


Live To Tell The Tale

by PlaneJane



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-09
Updated: 2011-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-16 19:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaneJane/pseuds/PlaneJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon is dying.  In a fit of spontaneity he decides to preserve his form in the shape of a Real Doll.  After he dies, however, Arthur discovers ... he isn’t dead.  Instead, he’s trapped inside the body of the Real Doll – only able to see and hear, unable to feel, react or respond.  His reluctant owner, the shy and lonely Merlin, is persuaded by his friends to include Doll Arthur in his everyday life, but the situation eventually becomes intolerable for them both.  Arthur wants to be real, Merlin wants a real man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live To Tell The Tale

  
**Live To Tell The Tale**   


 

Dr. Guy put a comforting hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He needn’t have said anything after that. The gesture spoke volumes. It didn’t stop the dreaded words resonating and ringing loud in his ears all the way from the office to the lifts and louder still on his solitary way down from the sixth floor.

_“Best get your house in order, Arthur. It’s only going to be a matter of months.”_

Once he reached the hospital foyer Arthur opened his wallet, took out his donor card and threw it in the bin. His organs weren’t going to be of any use to anyone now.

It was hot in Camelot, even for July, and Arthur walked the twenty minutes from the hospital to the shops on the sunny side of the street, daring the summer rays to burn his arms. It was too late to worry about skin cancer – his pancreas had got there first and decided to share it around with his spine and lungs.

***

At the coffee shop, Arthur had hazelnut syrup and full fat milk in his latte, a slice and a half of carrot cake and a chocolate coin the size of his palm. He looked through _Elle_ magazine in full view of anyone who cared to look, lingering over the lonely hearts. He wanted to reply to every single one, to tell them, _not like this. Get out there, join a club, do a class, talk to someone at the supermarket, but don’t, whatever you do, don’t sit at home waiting and hoping that maybe tomorrow you’ll get lucky and that special someone will find you - because tomorrow might never come._

On the last couple of pages there were the classifieds. Arthur was about to skim over when a small black and white advertisement on the bottom left hand corner of one of the pages caught his eye.

With no time to waste, he took out his phone and dialled.

***

The sign at the factory entrance said _Chalice Industries_ in neat blue print on a white background. The building itself was a square, grey concrete box with dark tinted windows at the front - no different than any of the others on the industrial park. To an outsider they could be making anything from toasters to toys on the inside.

Arthur was buzzed in and met at reception by an attractive blonde woman who looked in her thirties, though from the drape of her blouse and trousers, Arthur could see she was as tight as a teenager.

She shook his hand firmly. “I’m Morgause, and I’ll be taking care of you today. Ready for a quick tour first?”

“Sure. That would be ... interesting.”

Morgause’s smile was wry, but she said nothing as she lead Arthur along a corridor past offices and a copy room to a set of double doors at the end. Beyond that was the factory floor. It hummed with the chug of machines and above it music from a local radio station.

“In here we assemble. There are rooms upstairs where we do casting and construct each of the body parts. Though some things, like the eyes, we order in. They’re the same as the prostheses used by living people who’ve lost an eye.”

Arthur surveyed the room, at the workers in their navy uniforms chatting and laughing, at the plastic arms and legs and torsos and heads that were being moved and manipulated on benches lining the near edge of the room, and ahead, held up on metal stands, the finished models. Some were naked, some clothed. Arthur shuddered at how real they looked, with their faces towards him, staring; an army of androids, silently awaiting their fate.

“Feel free to touch one.” Morgause was goading him, Arthur could tell by the glint in her eye.

He stepped forward and approached a naked doll that was a couple of inches shorter and more slightly built than him. His hair was black - from the thick waves on his head to the dusting on his chest and the curls that framed his flaccid penis, complete with foreskin. If it had been a real man, Arthur would have considered him attractive, his type. He reached for the doll’s upper arm and brushed his fingers over the smooth pale skin.

“It’s warm!” Arthur pulled his hand back in surprise.

Morgause’s echoing laughter filled the space around them. “Yes. There are fine wires, something like you’d find in under-floor heating, embedded under the dermal layer. When you switch on the battery pack in the doll’s back it heats the skin to body temperature.”

“You’ve thought of almost everything.”

“Almost. They don’t talk – but then some women probably prefer them that way.”

Arthur forced a grin and swallowed down the bile that was bubbling in his stomach and up into his chest.

More seriously, Morgause said, “We’ve got a thriving business here.”

Morgause kept moving, waving and smiling to her people as she lead Arthur from station to station, the length of the room, until they came to a loading bay with plain crates, marked only with _Fragile, This Way Up_ and the address of the recipient. The delivery vans were UPS. Nothing that went beyond the confines of the building gave away the nature of the contents of the crates. Arthur couldn’t help but admire the discreetness and professionalism of the operation.

Arthur continued to follow Morgause up a metal staircase that lead to a carpeted suite, with two corridors leading away from the waiting area.

“My assistant, Ken, will see to you from here. He’ll be taking pictures and doing your full body cast. Have you got any questions?”

It was the obvious thing to ask, but Arthur hadn’t been able to get a clear answer from their brochure or his online research. “Who buys these dolls?”

“Women mostly, though we get a few men.”

“No. I mean, why? Who would want one of these?”

“All sorts of people. It’s not perverse or sick, if that’s what you’re thinking. I had one lady – she’d lost her husband. She said she couldn’t sleep without a warm body in the bed next to her. Over the years she’d got into the habit of draping her leg over her husband’s when they went to bed, so after he died she couldn’t get into a comfortable position at night. She bought a Real Doll to help her sleep. Not everyone wants to take advantage of these for sexual reasons, though the erect prosthetics are as good as the best dildos on the market.”

Her face softened as her eyes flickered over Arthur’s face, taking in his blush.

Morgause reached out and touched Arthur’s arm. “This is a good thing you’re doing. Also, I’m told you’re foregoing your payment and giving us your hair.”

“No need for them where I’m going.” Arthur paused. “I have terminal cancer. This is probably the last time I’m going to look like this.”

“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. If it’s any consolation, your Real Doll is going to make someone very happy. That I promise.”

***

When the Real Doll was finished Morgause called to tell Arthur. By this time, Arthur was no longer able to walk unaided, let alone drive, but he wanted to see it. Though it wasn’t normal practise for there to be any further communication once a doll had been made, Morgause collected Arthur herself and took him to the factory.

She wheeled Arthur to the factory floor where his duplicate stood ready to be packed for shipping, dressed in dark blue jeans and a white shirt.

With a heart too worn-out to break, Arthur regarded the Real Doll, the image of him three months before - golden-haired, muscular and handsome. It didn’t seem vain to think it when he was a gaunt fading shadow of the man he’d been.

Morgause crouched by the side of the wheelchair and took Arthur’s hand. “He was ordered for a man in Wales.”

“A man?”

“Yes. I thought that might please you. His name’s Merlin.”

Arthur felt dizzy and weak, and it wasn’t until the scorch of his tears burned down his cheeks that he realised he was crying.

Morgause stood and said, “I’ll get you a drink, before I take you back to your father’s.”

While she was gone Arthur reached up, and placed his bony yellowed hand on the model’s chest, where his heart would have been were he real. Arthur whispered shakily, his voice thick from his tears, “I wish I could have a second chance, Merlin. Then maybe you could’ve had the real thing.”

***

There was nothing but darkness: interminable darkness.

Arthur couldn’t move or feel or smell, or hear anything beyond his thoughts; as far as he knew he no longer had a body, which meant he was dead and this was heaven, hell or that limbo place that non-believers like him were meant to go to. Arthur couldn’t decide which this was yet, because in his sensory deprived, disembodied state he realised he didn’t feel anything; not fear or anger or sadness. He’d have at least expected to feel mildly pissed off, if this was it for all eternity.

Maybe he was in a queue. And the heaven or hell part was yet to come.

He didn’t know how long he’d been like this - he had no sense of time passing, _nothing_ to mark time’s passage. Arthur’s memories were all that remained. Those were vivid and clear, without the distraction of new memories and experiences to crowd out the old ones to the sidelines.

He thought of his father, by his bedside those last few days, eyes wet with grief. Up until then it had felt like Uther had held his illness against him, as if Arthur had done it deliberately to inconvenience him. Once he was home everything changed and it had been as if he was a child for the first time. Uther read to him, held his hand and in the end, told Arthur he loved him more than his own life; he would have done anything to take his place.

Arthur savoured everything, slowed down every moment of living that had gone, watching like he was observing someone else charging through an existence that hadn’t found enough time for laughter and pleasure. Maybe his asceticism had earned him a spot in heaven, even if he hadn’t believed in it when he was alive (and he wasn’t sure he did now). If there was a God, after all, Arthur was certain His ego wasn’t so fragile as to hold doubt against the agnostics.

It could have been years. It could have been minutes.

Out of the nothingness came voices, muffled, but close enough for Arthur to hear the angry exchange.

“You bought me a high-end sex doll? How much, Will? How much did you blow this time?”

“None of your business. Stop being a wanker about this. You can use him to practise on so that when I take you to Cardiff you can go pick up a real bloke without making a total tit of yourself.”

“I am not going to Cardiff with you. And you can send that back. Don’t even think about bringing it into the shop.”

“Then I’ll open it here, shall I? In the street?”

“No! Oh for fuck’s sakes. Use the dolly and wheel it round the back.”

“You’ll have to help me – it’s bloody heavy.”

“What the... Did they pack the crate with bricks in it?”

“No. I told you, Merlin, he’s totally life-like and therefore the same weight as a real man. I called him Arthur.”

“Oh you’re such a comedian. Do you have any idea how much I hate you right now?”

“I can live with it. Because you’ll thank me later.”

Arthur was unable to feel the terror that he should have as the truth sank in. Though Merlin had been angry with Will, his voice had blown through Arthur like a rush of warm air.

And then there was light.

***

At first it was blinding, everything was bright white, the antithesis of the dark but still as empty.

Arthur waited for the voices to return as slowly but surely watery-pale colours drifted in front of him in a blur, shifting shapes in pink and green and brown.

“Go and get some scissors from the shop.” It was Merlin, his tone calmer now. There was only a slight hint of the Welsh long-vowels to his accent; most of all his voice was low and mellow, and kind.

“Be careful, don’t cut his face.” That was Will – brash and loud and the one responsible for the Arthur doll being in Merlin’s possession.

There was a whine-snap and rip and sudden clarity, perfectly lit, the perfect face in Arthur’s vision. He had deep blue eyes and raven hair, the sharp sweep of high cheekbones and a mouth as lush and pink as ripe summer fruit.

“Hello, Arthur. I’m Merlin. And apparently my friend, Will, thinks I need you. I can tell you now, I don’t, but since he sold his motorbike to pay for you, you’re going to have to earn your keep.” He turned his head, and Arthur was able to see standing behind him a sandy-haired scruff with three-day stubble. Merlin said to him, “I’m going to use him in the shop as a mannequin.”

“What? No! You haven’t seen the rest of him yet.” Will barged forward and Arthur could see and hear him pulling and scrabbling about in what Arthur assumed was his crate. Merlin had moved back, and was stood with his hands on his hips, chewing the inside of his cheek. Arthur got the merest hint of _sensation_ that if he’d had the lungs and the throat, he would have laughed. Merlin was enchanting.

“All right, all right, I get the picture. If he was a real person, yes, I might call him handsome.”

“Stonking.”

Merlin’s forehead crinkled. “His teeth are crooked. Did they put them in wrong?”

“I don’t know. Look! He’s buff, too. And best of all he’s got working equipment.”

“You mean a cock?”

“Yep – two actually. Down for daywear and up for the _bed-room._ And a fully functioning arsehole, if that’s your deal.”

Merlin screwed up his face and walked away. He called over his shoulder, “Bring him through. And don’t ever mention his interchangeable penises in my presence again, or they’re going in the bin.”

If Arthur could have screamed, _no!_ he would have. Instead, he had to endure the view of Will’s saggy backside as he was flung over his shoulder and hauled into the shop.

***

They put him on a chair in the back corner of the shop floor. Arthur could see his own jeaned thighs, but not his feet, and one of his hands resting casually on his leg. It did look uncannily real, from the smattering of dark blond hair on his wrist all the way to his fingernails. He couldn’t move or feel it, or any other part of his doll body, but his vision and hearing were exceptional.

The shop was tiny, no bigger than the living area of his old flat, and jam-packed from floor to ceiling along every spare inch of wall. Set a few feet out from the walls were two solid wood glass-fronted counters: one along the side of the shop opposite Arthur and one to his right, along the back wall. There were large bay windows at the front, flanking the door, and to Arthur’s left there was a small table and two tiny chairs; a jam jar filled with broken crayons and a few sheets of white paper left casually on the table-top.

Arthur had never been in a shop like this: a craft-come-toy shop that looked as if it had been faithfully preserved from sometime in the Sixties. He spied Airfix model kits, bottles of paint, jig-saws, string puppets and boxes upon boxes labelled in felt-tip with things like _Needles, 3mm – 6mm_ and _Odd Buttons,_ which just about summed up the complete bizarreness of Arthur’s predicament.

It was a lot to take in after being nowhere, seeing and hearing nothing, for what had felt like aeons.

Merlin and Will seemed to have disappeared out back, leaving Arthur alone. He could see into the street and could just about make out a few other businesses on the opposite side of the road, though there was a car parked directly in front of Merlin’s shop obscuring his view. The sun was shining: all the lustrous surfaces, the car and shop windows, reflected a warm orange glow. A brusque wind whistled and tossed sweet papers and hot-coloured leaves down the street, up and over the cars, and in a swirling eddy at the doorway. It was still autumn then.

A group of burgundy-blazered school children walked past the window, heads bent into the wind, bags slung over their shoulders. One of them, a boy with a mop of brown hair and a snarly grin, paused just as they reached the shop entrance and called out loud enough for the sound to carry to inside, “Did you know that bloke in there’s a bender?”

One of the girls dragged him forward, keeping the pack moving, amidst cackles and shoves and a gob of spit that landed squarely on the window.

There was a time not so long ago that Arthur would have gone out and threatened to wring the little shit’s neck and chased him off waving an angry fist. At least Merlin hadn’t been in earshot, which was something.

Half against the wall, half leaning where it had been placed on the high shelf, there was an old analogue clock. If it worked, it was almost eight in the morning.

***

Merlin re-emerged half an hour later, his hair fluffed and curling over his ears, in loose jeans and a collared t-shirt. His ears stuck out a bit, like his knees and elbows. He’d come armed with a bucket, a mop, a bunch of cloths and a can of polish. As he cleaned he listened to a talk radio show, occasionally interjecting, sometimes laughing, and other times swearing under his breath. All the while, he didn’t stop moving, the tendons in his slender wrist flexing as he worked vigorous circles over the glass, his cheeks warming up to a rosy flush. Merlin was intelligent and witty. It was easy enough to imagine that if his circumstances had been more akin to Arthur’s growing up, he would easily have been in a profession, not wiping smears off glass in a village shop.

At ten o’clock Merlin stopped cleaning, though he’d only mopped half the floor, disappeared with his cleaning supplies and returned with a mug of what Arthur guessed to be tea and a brochure or manual of some sort. He set the mug down on the counter, came over to Arthur and knelt in front of him, looking up intently at Arthur’s face for the first time since the crate had been opened. He didn’t touch.

After staring and staring, Merlin rolled back on his heels, stood and held up the white brochure, shaking it under Arthur’s nose. “Fifty pages on your care and operation. _Fifty pages._ What are you, a fucking Terminator?”

Arthur would have much preferred to be a Terminator. Not that he was in a position to discuss the matter. All he could do was watch Merlin toss the brochure behind the counter and get back to his cup of tea.

Minutes later the bell over the shop door rang and an elderly lady came in, accompanied by a small teenage girl. The old woman started talking, ten-to-the-dozen, the moment she crossed the threshold.

“Hello, love. I’m not stopping. I just came to introduce you to my granddaughter, Freya. She’s come down from Merthyr to help me out a bit, sweet thing that she is, though it was her Mam’s idea. Any road, I’m quite all right, as you well know, and I was thinking you might need a bit of help in the shop - give you a chance to get out and meet a nice boy your own age. I told Freya, you won’t mind, that you’re one of those gays, so she doesn’t need to worry about sexual harassment in the workplace.”

Merlin and Freya stood frozen, while the old lady shuffled up to the counter alongside Arthur and started rooting around in her giant handbag. “Actually, you know what? While I’m here I was wondering if you could have a look at my Fair Isle, Merlin. It’s supposed to be blue crosses but I’ve got a bunch of holes all the way along my row. Let me get out my glasses and --” She spun around as fast as an old person might respectfully expect to do so when taken by surprise. “Bloody Jesus, Joseph and Mary. Hell’s bells! What in bloody fuck’s name is that?”

Freya ran over to steady the old lady, who was clutching her chest and panting like she might expire any second, while Merlin jumped in front of Arthur waving his arms around frantically like he might actually be able to make Arthur disappear from her view.

“It’s a mannequin, Mrs. Jones. Will bought it for me.” Merlin bobbed manically. “Um, nice to meet you, by the way, Freya.”

“You, too. Nan, perhaps you should sit down.”

“Well I would, but blondie over there’s got my chair.”

Merlin said to Freya, “I’ll get her one from the back, and a cup of tea.”

The old lady eyed Arthur suspiciously while she caught her breath, remarkably quickly. “Bloody Nora, I thought he was real.” She gave him a prod, somewhere on his mid-rift and screeched out a laugh so high-pitched it could have shattered glass. “That Will, eh? He’s a cheeky bastard but thick as two short planks. He probably thought it was a sex doll or something.”

Arthur wondered if all Welsh people swore that much, or just the ones in Merlin’s circle.

***

In order to secure her full recovery, Mrs. Jones needed no more than a cup of tea, six Rich Tea biscuits and a promise by Merlin to fix her knitting while she went to get her hair set. She left Freya and Merlin with jaunty skip of her black fur-lined boots and a sprightly, “Cheerio, then. See you in a bit.”

“Sorry about that.” Freya shoved her hands in her coat pockets and looked around. If Arthur had been able to muster a facial expression, he imagined it would have looked something like hers did now: filled with curious wonder.

“Your Nan? Don’t be - I’ve known her since I was little. Her heart’s in the right place.”

“Is this place yours?”

Merlin started nervously pulling at the mess of Mrs. Jones’ knitting on the counter, hardly looking up at Freya, who was fiddling with a basket by the front door filled with balls of wool. “Yes. It’s been in my family a couple of generations.”

Arthur watched Merlin take a deep breath as he added, “I don’t really need any extra help, except on a Saturday. I already have someone on a Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. You’re welcome to come and hang out, though.”

Freya didn’t seem to mind. She said brightly, “Okay, I will. It beats hanging around at Nan’s. She’s been trying to teach me to knit without much luck. She can hardly do it herself.”

Merlin abandoned the knitting and perked up. “I’ll teach you. You can make Arthur a scarf. I got this _Vogue_ magazine in last week that’s got a dozen scarf patterns – some of them are dead easy. He’d suit red, don’t you think?” If Arthur wasn’t mistaken, Merlin might have winked. He was teasing her, Arthur knew it.

“You talk about him like he was real. How long have you had him?”

“Two hours.”

They both laughed and Merlin’s shoulders relaxed and Freya came closer. The ice had broken, just like that.

 _“Is he_ one of those real-life looking sex dolls?” Freya approached Arthur, her dark eyes wide. She was a pretty girl, if exceptionally pale - maybe even paler than Merlin.

“Has the village grapevine been rustling?”

“No. It was something Nan said. We watched _Lars and the Real Girl_ a few weeks ago. She fell asleep after the first half an hour though. That must be where she got the idea.”

“That or all those Youtube clips she watches.”

“Nan?”

“Yeah. She tells me she’s shopping on Amazon, but I know what she gets up to.”

“What’s she doing on your laptop? Mum and Dad bought her a computer she can use at home.”

“A lot of the old folk in the village stop in here and use my laptop to shop online. I charge them two pounds for half an hour, but I throw in a cup of tea and a biscuit.”

Arthur would have winced, if he could. This was why Merlin was poor. He clearly didn’t have a business-minded bone in his body.

“So this place is an internet cafe as well?”

“With one computer, which is mine. Not exactly.”

Merlin got out a pair of knitting needles and started on a ball of deep claret wool. Freya pulled up the chair her Nan had been sitting on, an arm’s stretch from Arthur. She cast him a furtive glance, as if he might actually be watching her.

“You didn’t answer my question before. You don’t have to, if you’re embarrassed.”

“It is a sex doll.” Now it was Merlin’s turn to glance over, his voiced lowered, as if Arthur might hear him. “They’re called Real Dolls. Do you think he’s creepy?”

“Realistic. But not creepy. Have you looked in his trousers?”

_“No.”_

“Do you mind if I do?”

Merlin looked repulsed at the idea. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Freya let it go and Arthur wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?”

“Not _afraid._ No.”

“He can’t bite you. Or can he?”

They laughed again.

Merlin handed Freya the red knitting he’d started and showed her how to keep it going. Then he pushed up, sat himself cross-legged on the counter and got back to Mrs. Jones’ Fair Isle.

Freya chatted while she man-handled her craft, frowning at her labour, which appeared to cost her more energy than one would have thought possible for two needles and a ball of wool. She told Merlin about her heart operation, about having to defer university for a year while she got her strength back, about the lack of male talent in the area. At one point she pulled down the neck of her jumper to show the scar that sliced up the milk-white skin of her sternum, and Merlin flinched.

Arthur was letting the words drift in, but his attention was focused on Merlin’s hands, working swiftly through Mrs. Jones tangle of ruined knitting. His fingers were impossibly long, and though slender, his hands looked strong, certain. Merlin nodded and smiled, and seemed to slowly unfurl, to warm to Freya. Merlin was shy, Arthur could see that. He just needed to be able to focus his attention away from the interaction, and then he was able to slot into it just fine.

When Arthur had been real he’d never had a problem in a social situation. Even when he didn’t care for the company he was able to feign interest, to keep a conversation going, to engage in small-talk, eye-contact and on occasion the odd brush of his hand.

For Merlin it looked like, at first, it had been a monumental effort to meet Freya’s gaze, though she was perfectly lovely. But his shyness with her didn’t last. Now the two of them were chatting and knitting away, Merlin on the counter, Freya on a chair, cosy as peas in a pod.

Freya asked, “Where do you go to meet people? Men, I mean?”

“I don’t.”

“But surely there’s a gay scene in Swansea, or Cardiff?”

“Maybe, but I’ve heard about those places. Men who don’t even know each other have sex in the _toilets.”_ Merlin looked scandalised and Arthur couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t entirely like that, depending on where you went. But how would Merlin know, living here?

“I’ve never had sex, but I can’t imagine it’s all that satisfying in a public lav,” Freya said, matter-of-factly.

“Me neither. On both counts. Don’t go telling anyone, will you?”

“Of course I won’t.”

Freya held up her work. There was a big hole in the middle. Merlin got off the counter and took it from her, twiddling the needles and fixing it in a minute. Instead of giving it back to her, however, Merlin stepped over to Arthur and held the knitting against his neck. Arthur couldn’t feel the touch, but he knew Merlin’s fingers were resting against his plastic skin. He could feel it from the flash of something else that sparked and crackled uncontrollably through his mind.

“What do you think?”

“It suits him. I love that colour. Red’s my favourite.”

“I could make you a jumper. The size of you I’d have it done in a couple of weeks.” Merlin moved away and the maelstrom of activity going on inside Arthur quieted. “Here, look through the _Vogue_ magazine and pick something out.”

Freya looked elated. “If I was a man, I’d go out with you.”

“I can take you out, if you want. There’s a cinema in Llanelli, about twenty minutes drive from here. Just as friends, okay?”

“I’d like that very much. Thanks.”

Arthur wondered if this was punishment, for wasting the life he’d had before. He wanted to take Merlin to the cinema, he wanted to show him that the gay scene wasn’t all sordid and frightening; he wanted to show him that he could find someone, if he had the mind to look, without having to go to a sleazy bar. That was when Arthur realised he felt jealous. The very first feeling he’d had as a doll was jealousy.

Things weren’t getting off to a good start.

***

Unbelievably, Merlin had a steady stream of customers throughout the day. In addition to the things he sold and the ‘internet cafe’ that really wasn’t, Merlin also had what Arthur could only describe as toys-for-hire. They were stored in a big cupboard, out of Arthur’s line of sight, and could be borrowed for a small fee. Very small. Arthur was beginning to see a pattern that didn’t involve Merlin ever making a million.

When darkness fell and movement in the street outside slowed, Merlin closed the shop and disappeared upstairs. Arthur realised Merlin must live above the shop. He could hear his footsteps on the floorboards above and the television when his footfall quieted.

Arthur wondered whether he would sleep like this, or whether he was going to have to wait out the night for Merlin to reappear. It turned out that for the time being it was going to be neither. The street light outside illuminated the clock on the wall; it was eleven o’clock when Arthur heard Merlin coming back down the stairs.

Merlin switched on the light in the back room and opened the door, casting a shaft of yellow light through the centre of the shop. He was wearing pyjama trousers and a tatty sweatshirt, worn threadbare and faded.

When Merlin pulled up the chair and took Arthur’s hand in his, Arthur was certain he would be able to cry out - such was the jolt that ran through him. Merlin didn’t seem to notice. He looked at Arthur for a long time.

Everything Arthur had seen of Merlin up to this point could be seen in his eyes. He saw deep passion, and kindness that suffused them with bright warmth that belied the coolness of their blue.

Arthur wasn’t expecting Merlin to talk to him.

“Trust Will to pick you: the perfect man. I’ll bet the real you is married to a beautiful woman and you’ve got two perfect kids, a dog and a brand new Volvo and a sports car for weekends in your country house. No one that looks like you is ever going to want someone like me. I suppose that’s the point, though, isn’t it? This is the closest blokes like me will ever get to the beautiful people.” Merlin looked away and forced a laugh. “I bet you’re a right wanker in real life. I’d probably hate your guts.”

Merlin’s sadness hurt. While he held Arthur’s hand it made Arthur forget his own plight.

When Merlin got up and left the pain of his sadness eased and Arthur felt his mind drifting, aimless and unfocused. Perhaps he would sleep after all.

***

Each and every day for the next two weeks, except Sundays, Arthur watched and listened to the comings and goings in _Emrys Toys and Crafts_. Every night Merlin switched off the light, leaving Arthur where he sat until morning.

It was a rainy Thursday lunchtime and Merlin was clearing the floor when Gwen came bursting in through the front, in a flurry of flapping coat tails and a dripping umbrella. She had her guitar strapped over her shoulder in its case, her bag hanging around her neck and a Tupperware box tucked under her free arm.

Merlin ran to her aid. “Need some help?”

“Just a bit. I brought you some leftover pasta bake from dinner last night. Lance made it, not me, so you’re safe.”

“You don’t need to feed me.”

“I bloody well do.” She jabbed Merlin in the ribs. He yelped and escaped out to the back with his dinner.

Arthur was slowly building up a veritable collection of facts and observations with regards to Merlin. Having witnessed the rib jab from his observation post in the corner, Arthur could add that Merlin was ticklish. Like everything else he’d gleaned over the fortnight, this piece of information was completely and utterly useless.

Gwen called out to Merlin while she unpacked and shook water droplets from the ends of her corkscrew curls. “I don’t know why I bother with an umbrella – I swear I end up wetter fiddling round with the poxy thing. Oh, and I hope you’re ready for a roomful – it’s going to be packed with the weather this bad.”

Gwen was dark, sharp and bubbly – a real Coca-cola kind of woman. She had a boyfriend called Lance that Arthur hadn’t seen and worked as a pre-school teacher in the mornings. This ‘Thursday thing’ she did for _fun_ and handful of pound coins.

She covered the floor with an old patchwork quilt minutes before the arrival of the first of a seemingly endless stream of small children and their mums, dads, grannies – Arthur couldn’t always tell. Wellies and raincoats were discarded to the sidelines while the owners of tiny socked feet skipped onto the quilt, bouncing and jittering and twirling like whirligigs.

Gwen strummed a chord with her usual gusto. “Heads, shoulders, knees and toes, everyone! Grown-ups join in, too. This is Merlin’s favourite.”

As all eyes turned to Merlin, who was busy doing nothing in particular behind the counter, he flushed scarlet and waved them off. “Maybe the next one.”

“That’s what you always say, killjoy.”

No amount of beckoning would coax Merlin around to the open floor. Arthur had heard him singing, as he cleaned the shop in the mornings, and his voice wasn’t half bad. Not that talent was the main requirement for singing with Gwen; all she demanded was volume, energy and zeal, and she lead by example.

Arthur discovered he knew most of the songs, much as he might have once maintained he had a deprived childhood in that regard. Obviously he was unable to join in with _Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes_ and not that he would have done even if he could. Likewise, most of the parents were reserved with their enthusiasm, which the children more than made up for with their own spirited participation.

After the music, orange squash and biscuits were served and Arthur was reminded why the glass fronts of the counters were always in need of a clean. With several more children and adults in attendance than the week before, and bundles of wet coats and shoes littering the floor, every square inch of the shop floor was taken up with lively bodies and strewn garments. The front windows steamed up and the noise was deafening.

Arthur was helpless against the children’s inability to grasp the concept of personal space. While the adults were busy discussing the virtues of Tesco’s baby-wipes and the latest episode of Eastenders, sticky hands and frantic feet collided and clambered, at one point almost toppling Arthur from his perch.

When it was over Arthur imagined a sigh of relief.

The shop cleared as quickly as it had filled, as many of the families rushed away to meet their older charges from school. Merlin and Gwen swept away the debris, righted the skewed boxes and brought the breakables back down to reach.

Gwen cocked Arthur a sorry glance and gave Merlin a nudge. “Your boyfriend’s looking a bit the worse for wear.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Gwen.” Merlin came over and righted Arthur so that he was no longer looking at everything askew, paused, frowned and reached for the top of Arthur’s head. Arthur could have sworn it made him feel warm. “What’s this in his hair?”

Gwen joined Merlin in a scowl. “Jammy Dodger, I think, and half a Jaffa Cake.”

“There are spills on his jeans, too.”

“Not to mention, half an inch of dust. You’re never going to find true love treating a man like that.”

Arthur spotted the glint in her eye where Merlin was unable to see it.

Merlin edged away, indignant. “Gwen, if you keep talking about him like he’s real, I’m going to have to assume you’re having a psychotic episode. They don’t bode well for those employed with caring for small children.”

“Stop blathering and shut the shop. You need to give Arthur a shampoo.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No. I did it for Lance when he ripped his shoulder. You know how particular he is about his hair. I’ll help you move him to the back and you can do it over the sink. I’d stay and help you but I’ve got to go help the vicar’s wife sort jumble.”

Arthur heard Merlin gulp.

“I only need to wipe his hands and face and brush the crumbs out.”

“Merlin, his clothes are filthy and he’s a sticky mess. If you want him in the shop he has to maintain a certain level of cleanliness, just like everything else in here. Maybe we should just take him upstairs and you can decide whether you want to keep him at all.”

Merlin sighed. “All right.”

***

Upstairs Arthur had a perfect view of the bathroom ceiling. He’d been unceremoniously dumped there by Merlin and Gwen and left to deliberate the cracks in the plaster, the crushed biscuit in his hair and whether Merlin was going to clean him up. The latter was the biggest cause for deliberation, given that it would require removal of his clothes and handling of his personage, both of which Merlin had studiously avoided up to this point.

There was a toilet downstairs. It was hard to imagine that upstairs there was more than one bathroom. Even if Merlin decided to use the toilet downstairs, sooner or later he would need to use the bathroom to wash. Arthur concluded he wasn’t going to be left on the floor indefinitely.

That still meant he could be on the floor all night and if he’d been of a mind to worry, it would be not least because there was now a spider on the ceiling. If the spider dropped down and crawled up his nose, or in his ear or mouth, he could end up infested with tiny spider eggs that would hatch into tiny spider babies.

Once upon a time thoughts like those would have given him nightmares.

***

It was dark outside when Merlin finally appeared. He knelt at Arthur’s side and lifted his hands, as if in prayer, his fingertips caressing the bow of his lips. He stayed like that, his eyes raking over Arthur’s body from head to foot. Arthur could see his hands trembling.

“I should sell you on eBay and give Will his money back.”

A thousand future scenarios had drifted through Arthur’s head during his hours of solitude, none of them involving passage to a new owner. For some inexplicable reason, Arthur had assumed from the very beginning this weird and unbelievable fate of his was part of some higher purpose involving Merlin.

His sister, Morgana, always used to say he an overinflated sense of his own importance; that he thought the world revolved around him. (That was before she cut her Pendragon family ties and went to live in a commune in Norfolk. After that, she didn’t say much of anything to Arthur.)

Perhaps Arthur’s future had nothing to do with Merlin and he was indeed destined for the scrap-heap or the attentions of someone less charming. Arthur did an imaginary shudder.

“If I’m going to sell you, I need to clean you. If I’m going to keep you in the shop, I need to clean you. And if I’m going to use you like the sex toy you were designed to be, I need to clean you.” He frowned and chewed on his cheek, as Arthur had seen him do on the first day they met. “The other option is to hide you in a cupboard. Only I don’t have the space.”

With tentative fingers Merlin reached down towards Arthur’s neck and Arthur could hear the brushing pop, pop, pop as Merlin started undoing the buttons on his shirt.

The bathroom was small. Merlin became a frenetic, jerking blur of movement amidst the sounds of him huffing, puffing and cursing as Arthur’s clothes were yanked and thrown aside. He didn’t falter, pause or take a single moment to critically regard Arthur disrobed.

Groaning from the effort, Merlin tipped and tumbled Arthur into the bath, reclined sufficiently that he could see his feet propped up against the wall. No detail had been spared there either.

Merlin was flushed and ruffled. He stripped off his cardigan and shirt, his white t-shirt leaving his skinny arms exposed. Leaning over the edge of the bath, he turned on the tap, took the shower head off its stand, clanked over a lever and directed the spray of water from the shower over Arthur’s head.

After that, Arthur couldn’t see a thing. It appeared Merlin had closed Arthur’s eyes – thoughtful, since he was going to get his hair washed. Arthur had always been a baby about getting soap in his eyes.

From what Arthur could hear, over the running water and the dulling of his hearing as water presumably filled his ears, Merlin seemed to be approaching the task with the same industriousness with which he cleaned the shop – making agitated, breathless noises as he sprayed and scrubbed. Contrary to what Arthur had anticipated Merlin’s ministrations didn’t elicit a single sensation - as if Merlin had managed to completely disassociate himself from the procedure. It wasn’t until the sound of splashing and spraying ceased that Merlin seemed to slow.

“Oh, shit. What am I going to with him now?”

Merlin left the room, came back moments later and then there was further groaning as Arthur heard heavy footsteps and what was probably his own feet dragging across the floor. A door was kicked open, there was a soft whoosh, more footsteps and finally Merlin’s breathing, close to his ear. At that moment, Arthur’s eyes were flicked open and he discovered he was lying on the sofa on a large towel, his body angled high enough that he could see the entire line of his naked body. He looked at the downward trail of hair below his navel, his flaccid cock angled slightly to the left, his thighs and knees rising up and his feet hanging in mid-air off the other end of the sofa. Arthur was damp and glistening, droplets of water running in minute rivulets and pooling in the dips of his synthetic flesh.

At his side, kneeling on the floor, Merlin was holding a small towel, the colour of yellow primroses. He leaned in, his face close, his wrists going backwards, forwards, as he rubbed the towel over Arthur’s head. It was different now; Merlin’s expression softened, his lips parted as he breathed deep and slow, his Adam’s apple prominently moving up and down every time he swallowed. He ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair, cocking his head to the side, doing it again and again until he seemed satisfied.

Arthur continued to watch Merlin, his fascination with his fake body eclipsed by the slow sweep of the towel over his skin under the careful guidance of Merlin’s hand. Merlin took his time, particularly over Arthur’s hands, lifting them reverentially and turning them in his fingers. Arthur began to feel a humming, thrumming sensation building like the low rumble of a distant aircraft. He couldn’t pinpoint where he felt it, only that he was sure it existed. It felt like happiness, longing and regret.

Merlin was captivating like this, wrapped up in his task, relaxed. His t-shirt clung in wet patches to his shoulder and chest and Arthur could see the lean contours of his ivory skin shifting as he rubbed and dabbed the towel downwards over every inch of Arthur’s body.

When Merlin reached Arthur’s cock he stopped for a moment, gazing intently but giving nothing away in his expression. He wiped deliberately around it, concentrating on Arthur’s legs and feet before returning to where he’d paused.

Arthur could see Merlin blushing, a fierce crimson that coloured his cheeks and ears and spread like fast flames down his neck. Merlin dropped the towel to the floor and placed a hand on Arthur’s thigh, stroking upwards until he came to his balls. Arthur could see the touch was light, fleeting; a fragile caress. Merlin was breathing hard, his eyelashes flickering as he blinked nervously.

Merlin looked hot, Arthur felt like he was burning inside. If Arthur had been flesh and blood he’d have been hard, he’d have been urging Merlin to touch him, to take him in his beautiful and perfectly luscious mouth. Instead, he remained motionless, passive and cold.

Using the tips of his fingers, Merlin skimmed over the skin on Arthur’s balls, dragged his fingertips through the pubic hair and traced the line of what looked like a vein up to the tip of Arthur’s cock. His lips were parted as his breaths came quick and fevered, his eyes never straying from where he touched.

Arthur waited, unable to anticipate Merlin’s next move, though his arousal was burning outwards like the sting of a thousand piercing needles. How could Merlin not feel it, how could he not know what raged through Arthur in the confines of his synthetic prison?

All Arthur could do was watch, as Merlin withdrew his hand, screwing his eyes closed as if he was in pain. Then, so quickly it took Arthur a moment to realise what was happening, Merlin angled his body away. What he began to do next was unmistakeable: the pull of his zip, the jerking of his right elbow, the rasping of his quick breaths and finally a low groan.

Merlin used the yellow towel to wipe himself before he fled the room, not sparing Arthur a backwards glance.

He didn’t come back again that night.

***

On Friday morning Merlin came into the living room soon after sunrise, opened the curtains and put a pair of boxer shorts on Arthur. He pulled Arthur up to sitting, carded his fingers through his hair, and left him once again.

Arthur had to content himself with the sounds of the comings and goings downstairs and what he could see of Merlin’s living room. The fireplace housed a gas fire, with pictures on the mantel of Merlin, a few years younger than now, alongside a laughing woman with bountiful brown hair. There were books on a shelf, an old television, a coffee table pushed to one side and a mirror, too high above the fireplace for Arthur to see anything but the top of his head. He was grateful not to see more.

The day dragged long for Arthur, without the engaging drama of Ealdor village life playing out before him. He could hear everything – all the transactions going on in the shop, as well as the activity outside. Cars drove by, a bus every hour on the hour, children screamed and shouted in the playground of the infant school at the end of the street. It dawned on Arthur that living in a place like this had a charm and warmth he had come to appreciate, whereas he would have derided it when he was alive.

Merlin came upstairs at the end of the day and confined himself to the kitchen, the bathroom and his bedroom. He left Arthur unattended in the living room, not bothering to come in to close the curtains or replace Arthur’s clothes.

Like this, Friday night came and went, and Saturday passed no differently.

Arthur missed Merlin.

Up until that point he hadn’t realised that was possible.

***

Sundays the shop was closed. Arthur had sat alone and neglected the two Sundays prior to today, but it hadn’t been all bad. There was still activity outside and Merlin made his own sounds in the flat above the shop.

Today, still sitting facing the fireplace in his underpants and nothing more, Arthur listened as Merlin ate breakfast in the room next door, showered, dressed and spoke on the telephone. Soon after that, Merlin was running down the stairs and slamming the back door.

Arthur resigned himself to another day alone, wondering whether his days with Merlin were numbered, if not over already.

***

The back door slammed and the sound of female giggles and two sets of feet running up the stairs roused Arthur from a lull of boredom that had almost had him asleep.

“Where do you think he is?”

It was Freya.

“I don’t know. We dumped him in the bathroom Thursday, but Merlin must have moved him out of there by now.”

That was Gwen! They were looking for Arthur.

A door opened and closed, and another, and Freya was suddenly kneeling at Arthur’s feet. “He’s here, in the living room. Only wearing a pair of pants.”

“Seriously?” Gwen came in and joined Freya, standing behind her with a carrier bag in her hand. “That lazy little toad didn’t even bother to put his clothes back on. Mind you, he only does his laundry every couple of weeks. Good job I brought Arthur some new togs!”

“Not exactly new.”

“Good as. That’s why I always go and help sort the jumble – I get first pick of the good stuff.”

Arthur should rightly have been stricken with horror. He’d never worn second hand clothes in all his living years, not once ever. Now he was going to be clad in garments that elderly Welsh villagers (not renowned for their fashion sense) only saw fit for a jumble sale. He was beginning to fit right in.

Gwen was emptying the bag out of Arthur’s view, while Freya-

“Gwen. Come here.” Freya hooked her fingers in the tops of Arthur’s boxers. “Want a peek?”

They sniggered.

“Of course I do. But don’t you dare tell anyone.”

“As if I would. Nan would have me packed back to Merthyr in a heartbeat.”

They took a good, long look. Arthur awaited their verdict.

“It’s rather nice.”

“That’s a good one?”

Gwen stuck her hand in and had a feel. “Yes, for a softy. I wonder where the other one is. Can you see it lying around in here?”

“No. That’ll have to be for another time.”

“Yes, when I get Merlin drunk on Christmas Eve.” Gwen gave Freya a nudge, got up and moved back to her pile of jumble. Arthur noticed her shaking out a pair of brown trousers and willed for his mouth to open in protest. He had no such luck as Gwen extracted a couple of equally unattractive garments and handed them to Freya.

“We’d best hurry.” Gwen said. “I told Lance we’d be at the beach with Arthur by eleven.”

This was their nefarious plan!

Arthur was being kidnapped, wearing a pair of brown corduroy trousers, a red checked shirt and an Aran polo neck with holes in the elbows and sleeves that were four inches too long. Not to mention the hat: the one with the flaps to cover his ears.

Today, apparently, was not going to turn out to be boring.

Arthur took a moment to wonder whether it was possible for him to catch head lice from his new hat as Gwen and Freya dragged him down the stairs and out into the open air.

***

There was a wheelchair waiting for Arthur outside the back door. Gwen strapped him in and tucked a blanket snugly around his legs, as if he were a bona fide invalid. Clearly Gwen and Freya didn’t want to rouse suspicion or scorn from passersby with an under-dressed paraplegic in their charge, especially given that they themselves were tightly wrapped up in hats, scarves and gloves.

Arthur was bumped over uneven tarmac to the street where he was able to get a clear view for the first time of Ealdor. It wasn’t much. The street was dominated by two rows of shops, either side of the road – no more than ten or twelve businesses in total, along with a few houses set back from the main street. As they negotiated cracked pavement and cars parked half over the path, Arthur could see they were heading downhill on a slight incline, with the school in the near distance, a church, and side streets with rows of modest terraces and a scattering of bungalows. Ealdor was not for the wealthy. No wonder then that Arthur, despite having wind-surfed and holidayed on the Gower coast, had never been acquainted with this particular hamlet.

Gwen set a brisk pace while Freya had to skip to keep up. There were a few people out walking, some milling out of the church and the odd car passing in either direction. No one paid Arthur a blind bit of notice, though a couple of women waved to Gwen from over the road.

“What do you think Merlin’s going to say when he sees us?” Freya sounded anxious. Arthur noticed she worried a lot about Merlin; she struck Arthur as the kind of girl who worried a lot about everyone - except herself.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why he’s got such a bee in his bonnet about Arthur here. I think it’s pretty funny having him around. And it’s not like no one _real_ is interested in him.”

Arthur virtually pricked up his ears.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to fix him up for ages with this young bloke I used to work with in Swansea. Merlin met him once and seemed to quite like him, but he keeps putting it off.”

“He’s so shy, though. The prospect of a first date must be terrifying for him.”

“Maybe. But I think it’s more that he’s holding out for Mr. Right and he won’t give anyone a chance who doesn’t exactly fit the bill.”

“Well good for him, I say.” Freya gave a certain nod and smiled victoriously.

Arthur clung to the only ray of hope he had, knowing it was selfish and unable to do a thing about it.

They didn’t talk much the rest of the way, as they had to walk single file down the narrow, stony path towards the beach. Freya walked in front, light as a fairy on her feet, nimbly picking her way over stones and around muddy puddles. Arthur could hear Gwen breathing harder over the juddering of the wheelchair from her exertion of pushing him over the unforgiving terrain.

Once they’d left the outskirts of the village the footpath meandered over a long sloping rise and in the distance Arthur could see the grey shimmering sea, reflecting the sky. They were high up on a cliff where the wind was blowing in gusts, tossing Freya’s scarf around playfully until she tired of it and tucked it inside the collar of her coat.

She glanced back, cheeks rosy and eyes bright in the daylight. “We’re meeting them in the car park?”

“Yes. Lance has the picnic and a blanket in the back of the car. We’ll need the muscle to get everything down to the cove. You’ve met Will, right?”

Freya called back, _“Yes.”_

“Good. I get so tired of having to explain him before I introduce him to anyone.”

Arthur wasn’t sure if Freya was meant to hear that, or if Gwen was simply getting it off her chest.

They topped the hill and not far ahead of them was a gravelled clearing masquerading as a car park, half filled with a dozen cars. There was a group of four men unloading the boot of a navy Focus estate, one of which was Merlin, one was Will. Arthur hadn’t seen the other two before but one of them had to be Lance. He was guessing the one with the mane of dark hair and not the massive one with a crew cut.

Gwen, Freya and Arthur were spotted before they made it through the gap in the scrubby bushes.

Will was the first to extend a greeting. “Hell _ooo_ , ladies. I see you’ve brought a new addition to our monthly Frisbee gathering. How’s it going, Arthur?”

There was a perceptible stretch of silence. Arthur could see Lance looking seriously at his feet, Will grinning at the wind like he was demented and Freya, her eyes wide, the only one of them making eye-contact with Merlin.

When Arthur looked at him he saw distress flash across Merlin’s eyes as he smiled and said loud and cheery, “I cannot believe you brought him out in that awful jumper and hat. Percy, Lance, meet Arthur, and Percy, this is Freya.”

Percy was the size of a house; built like the perfect prop forward. Arthur would have bet his right hand he was a rugby player (not that he had much use for it these days).

“Nice to meet you, Freya and ... Arthur.” Percy glanced helplessly at Gwen and said, “Should I shake his hand?”

Everyone laughed, the tension eased.

Percy wasn’t the least bit perturbed. On the contrary, he stepped in, stooped down, stared and said, “If you look in his eyes, it really feels like he’s looking back at you.”

There was general agreement but Arthur was only interested in what Merlin had to say on the matter. He said nothing and Percy could have blocked out the sun with his shoulders, so there was no chance of observing Merlin’s reaction either. His lack of dissent was Arthur’s only indication that Merlin might possibly see something more than a doll when he looked in Arthur’s eyes. As for how Merlin felt about that – that was a continuing mystery.

The next thing Arthur knew, he was being lifted into Percy’s girder-like arms and carried down the steep path to the beach. Freya tried to keep up.

“How do you know Lance?”

“He and Gwen live in the house over the road from my parents. I’ve known Gwen since I was a kid, and Lance since he started going out with Gwen. I’ve not seen you before in the village.”

“I’ve only been here a few weeks. I’m here staying with my Nan until I can go to Uni next year.”

“I only got back from Cardiff for the Christmas break yesterday. I just finished my first term.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. You get four weeks. Good, isn’t it?”

They went on chattering all the way down to the beach.

The cove was sheltered from the wind, the sand solid under the walker’s feet where the tide had just receded, the muting winter light veiling the vista in hazy grey.

After lunch, Arthur was positioned and posed, still in his wheelchair, next to the blanket with an empty cup wedged in his hand, set up as a deterrent to potential pilferers. Effectively, Arthur was the wall-flower guarding the stuff with a perfect view of the fun everyone else was having – Merlin included.

From what Arthur had seen of Merlin so far, he was dexterous, elegant in the way he worked with his hands. On the beach, out in the wild open air, he ran and jumped with abandon; he could throw and catch like everyone else. However, when more than one of those actions was necessary in quick succession one or more of his limbs betrayed him. Merlin’s enthusiasm outstripped his ability by a light year. Arthur would have teased him mercilessly back when he was living, and if he were able he knew he still would. And Merlin wouldn’t mind a bit, Arthur knew that, too.

Lance and Gwen were both natural athletes and seemed to be able to anticipate the direction of each other’s throws like they were dancing a duet. Percy was strong, his Frisbee cutting through the air straight as an arrow, while Freya was deft, mostly at dodging the ones that came too hard for her to catch. Will attacked playing Frisbee like it was a matter of life and death, in all probability ending the day having eaten his weight in sand.

Arthur paid little attention to the foot traffic across the beach and most of them paid no attention to him. He’d never been the person to stay back and look after the coats and bags before: staying still would have been a massive frustration when there was a chance to engage in physical competition. The only exercise he got now was in observation.

Freya looked tired. More than tired: exhausted. Arthur noticed it before she called out, “I’m taking a break. Carry on without me.”

Arthur also noticed that Percy’s gaze followed her all the way back to the blanket.

She poured herself a coffee and sat on the cool box next to Arthur, looking out towards the sea. Despite all the running around and a hot drink inside her, she was shivering. Alternately, Percy and Merlin looked over, and Freya waved them off with exaggerated vigour.

Will and Merlin were skimming stones when Freya sidled up to Arthur and said through chattering teeth, “You won’t mind if I borrow this?”

She took the blanket from Arthur’s legs and wrapped it around her shoulders before nudging closer on the cool box and placing her head on Arthur’s lap, and an arm around his waist. She fell asleep almost instantly.

Freya’s face was paler than ever and Arthur was beginning to suspect it was more than fatigue.

Merlin was the first to come back to their picnic spot, with one leg soaked to the knee. Arthur had missed that accident looking at Freya but he attached Will’s name to the result.

The moment Merlin saw Freya, panic washed the ruddiness from his cheeks. He pushed the hair back from Freya’s face as he fretted, “I knew it would be too much for you.”

The next instant, Merlin stood up and waved and shouted to the others. “We need to go. Freya’s not well.”

Percy bounded up the beach closely followed by the rest of them. Freya sat up, groggy and confused.

Merlin asked, “Gwen, Lance, can you take Freya back to her Nan’s?”

“No. Please. She’ll call my Mam and they’ll keep me inside for the rest of the winter. I’m just tired, honestly. I overdid it running around. Gwen, couldn’t I come back to yours and rest for a bit?”

Gwen felt her forehead and said, “All right, but if you’re not feeling better in an hour I’m calling NHS Direct.”

“Would that be in order to finish her off?”

_Trust Will._

Percy shot him a glare and approached Freya, gentle and as sweet as could be. “I’ll carry you back to the car.”

The fact that Freya didn’t object could have been a sign that she really didn’t feel good, or that she quite fancied being held in his arms. Arthur predicted it was a combination of the two.

***

With Gwen, Lance, Freya and Percy heading off in the car with all the gear, Arthur was left with Will and Merlin hauling him up the cliff path. He tried not to dwell on what might happen if he should fall off the side and be dashed on the rocks below. Whatever he was on the inside of the doll, would it survive if the outside came to an untimely end? And what would the point of all this have been if that were to happen? Indeed, Arthur had deliberated at length what _the point_ of him being like this was without anything that added up to a satisfactory answer, for both him and Merlin.

Once the path was flanked by a wide expanse of green, Arthur was confident he was safe from falling from a great height. If Merlin and Will could manage the roads he would be home safe. _Home._ If only that was what it was.

Once they were up the worst of the hill Merlin took over pushing. Arthur could hear him sigh and cough before he said to Will, “Gwen told me you’re getting the bus to work and back every day.”

“Yeah. She drives past my bus stop every morning.”

“Will, I can sell Arthur on eBay and I’ll give you the money to buy a new bike.”

“No, I don’t want you to.”

 _Nor do I!_ Arthur wondered if he had thought vibes that carried any sway, since that was all he had going for himself at this point.

Will halted and stopped the wheelchair. “Look - if you don’t want him, go ahead and sell him. But not on my account. It’s not about the money.”

“I don’t understand. He cost a fortune you haven’t got.”

Will looked at his feet as he scrubbed his toe over the stones on the path. “I’ve been banned from driving – bikes or cars – for two years.”

“Why? What the hell did you do?”

“I was speeding, _again,_ and I caused an accident. No one was killed. Otherwise I could have gone to prison.”

 _“When?_ Why didn’t you tell me?” Merlin’s voice was high and gasping.

Will took a deep breath and continued. “It happened in the summer. I wasn’t arrested, so I didn’t tell anyone what had happened. I know you lot already think I’m a moron but this time ... I knew I’d really gone and done it. I went to Swansea on the train by myself, had my case read and got the ban. I was gutted even though I deserved it.”

Will started walking again, slowly on the grass, alongside Merlin and Arthur, the weight of his shame pulling down on his face. Merlin let him keep talking.

“Before I headed back I stopped in at a pub. I was trying to think about how I was going to manage, how I was going to tell everyone. I was sitting there, drinking a half of shandy - that’s all, I swear, when I was flicking through a magazine someone had left behind on the table next to me. The next thing I know there’s this ad at in the back for these Real Dolls and I started thinking if I bought one of them I could pretend that was why I sold the bike.”

“You must have been in some kind of shock. Most people would have bought something like a computer, or a sixty inch telly. And how nice of you to pick me as the beneficiary to your moment of insanity.” There wasn’t much bite to the sarcasm in Merlin’s voice, but it was enough to sting Will.

“It wasn’t like that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I really wasn’t thinking at all. I just called and put in an order, right then and there, like it was now or never.

“All they asked for was a five hundred quid deposit and my requirements. I didn’t know - you never really talk about what kind of blokes you like but they said it didn’t matter; they had just the thing for you. They said if it wasn’t what you wanted you could send it back.”

Arthur remembered July and a wave of pain hit him in what felt like a knee in the balls.

“You never told me how much he cost. You parted with five hundred quid, just like that, on a whim. That’s fucked up enough. But I know your bike wasn’t worth more than a couple of thousand. How much more did you spend after that, Will? _How much?”_

“I got three thousand for the bike, and I owed four and a half for Arthur.”

“He cost _five thousand quid?”_

“Yeah, he did, but get this. I sent a cheque for three thousand when he was done, and said I’d pay the balance in another month. I got a notification a couple of days later saying they’d already shipped him - nothing about what I owed - so I figured they were okay with me paying the rest later. Well, I waited and waited, and that cheque for the three thousand has never been cashed. And they haven’t been after me for the rest, either.”

Arthur was puzzled. If Chalice Industries managed their finances like that they would sink in no time. But that wasn’t the impression he’d been given when he went there all those months ago.

Finally, Will glanced over at Merlin and said, “Maybe you were just meant to have him.”

“Why, Will? Why am I meant to have him?” Arthur couldn’t stand it. Merlin sounded like he was going to cry. He hurried after Will, still pushing Arthur, with much less care than Gwen. He called after Will, “Have you any idea how cruel that is, you stupid bastard?”

“I know, and I don’t mean it to be. Fuck, Merlin. If you hate the bloody thing dump it in a skip. Whatever you do, I still have to take the bus and you’re still my best mate.”

Will pulled ahead and shoved his hands in his pockets, his head down, kicking stones as he walked.

They walked in silence as far as the end of the main street through the village. It seemed that was the juncture where Will and Merlin would head off in separate directions.

Will looked flushed and miserable as he turned to Merlin and asked, “You coming out Friday night?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like that rugby crowd.”

“I’ll see you soon though?”

“Yeah.” Merlin tipped Arthur back and up the curb and sighed. “Will. I want to keep him. Arthur. You’re not going to be a dick about it, are you? I mean, don’t ask me about stuff.”

“I never have before, have I?”

“No.”

Will shuffled forward. “I meant what I said, about Swansea. We could just go a gay pub and have a drink. Just look, see what it’s like. Then we’d come home again. I promise I’d be on my best behaviour.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Merlin must have been grinning because Will suddenly grinned back and headed away over the road, his step lighter than it had been all the way back from the beach.

“I’ll think about it,” Merlin called after him.

Arthur didn’t know what to make of any of it. But he knew he’d have plenty of time to mull it all over, sooner or later.

***

It was more of a strain for Merlin than it appeared to have been for Will to sling Arthur over his shoulder, not least because he was attempting to fireman carry him all the way up the stairs. Nonetheless, Arthur found himself placed with care in the armchair in the living room, with his gaze fixed towards the window, partly obscured by Merlin who’d collapsed breathlessly onto his knees at Arthur’s feet.

He looked at Arthur, right at Arthur, eyes alight and cheeks brighter still from the lash of the cold air at the beach and the exertion. Arthur didn’t know what to make of it, this sudden change. The tendrils of hope spreading out from inside him felt close enough to the surface, Arthur almost thought he could bend down and kiss Merlin; if he could have he would have kissed him senseless. As always, though, nothing happened.

“If you’re here to stay we need to do something about this.” Merlin pulled off the jumper, the hat having been lost downstairs already, and smoothed out Arthur’s hair. His fingers lingered, for a fleeting second, across the top of Arthur’s cheek. “And I suppose that means you’ve officially made it onto my Christmas list, which means you get a jumper. I can assure you it will be nicer than this one.” He held up the tatty cuff of the worn out Aran with a look of disdain, and it was about the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen.

***

As Christmas drew nearer the shop got busier and Freya started to help out on the weekends, which meant Percy would often be around too. Arthur watched their furtive touches, besotted smiles and stolen kisses, their new love growing warmer as the days grew colder.

He watched Merlin more keenly. Sometimes Merlin would glance over at him, his eyes shadowed and weary, quickly shifting his gaze away to somewhere else as if he’d been caught in the act of doing something forbidden. On those dark days, Arthur would be left in the shop all night.

Other days, Merlin would keep coming over to straighten his collar, more than was necessary for an inanimate object, and those were the days Arthur longed for. Those were the days Merlin would carry him upstairs after the shop closed and sponge his skin, comb his hair and rest him on the armchair for the evening. It never went any further than that; Merlin didn’t relent, didn’t use Arthur for his intended purpose. Arthur was strangely sorrowed by Merlin’s abstention, and he was absolutely certain that’s what it was. He considered how he would have scoffed once, long ago, that Merlin was shy with a doll – back when he was a person he hardly recognised anymore.

Arthur took the measure of his days by the sum of his sensations. The routine of what Arthur was permitted to see of Merlin’s life took on the tedium of the familiar; there was little comfort to be had from it when he was stuck on the fringe, watching and waiting. Waiting for what, he didn’t know. All that mattered was the rare spark of Merlin’s proximity, igniting emotions into startling, arousing clarity that were otherwise deep and dormant, out of reach.

It was Christmas Eve.

Merlin closed the shop at lunchtime after turning down Will’s offer of a night out at the pub. He also turned down Gwen’s offer of dinner and Freya and Percy’s invitation to the cinema. Arthur could see it in their eyes, their quiet concern, the things they didn’t say more telling than the things they did.

Merlin took Arthur upstairs to the living room and sat him on the armchair. The radio was on and a choir was singing _Silent Night_. Arthur was sick of being silent, sick of wanting, sick of waiting, sick of having nothing to give.

Outside, voices carried, full of loud joy, as people made their way home, to the pub, to visit friends and relatives, undeterred by the bulging sky, the promise of rain. Arthur didn’t need to be reminded, as the music changed and the noise outside went unabated, _‘Tis the season to be jolly_. He bitterly wished that he could close his eyes and ears - for once, to be able to turn off, turn away of his own free will.

Merlin kept forgetting to water the Christmas tree; its branches were slowly bending downwards more sadly day by day. There was a litter of pine needles on the floor and a blue shiny bauble had fallen off and rolled away, halted only by the skirting board. Merlin hadn’t seemed to notice, or maybe didn’t care. He hadn’t bothered to switch on the fairy lights today; Arthur thought they might not have been on all week, come to think of it.

The monotony was broken by Merlin bustling in, arms laden with all the things he needed to wrap gifts. Over the weeks, Arthur had seen him stash finished projects in the cabinet under the television. Merlin must have had other hiding places as well, because he disappeared and returned again with more bags and bundles, and a roll of red curly ribbon.

Merlin approached the task with soberness, making short work of cutting, wrapping and tying every present, as if he were in a hurry to get the job done. Given that he wasn’t going anywhere, as far as Arthur knew, he could only conclude Merlin didn’t care for gift-wrapping, as he similarly didn’t like mopping the floors downstairs.

Some of the gifts were easy to identify: a scarlet jumper for Freya, a black crocheted hat for Gwen with a peak on the front. The rest Arthur couldn’t tell and he couldn’t see the stuck-on labels identifying their owners before Merlin pushed them away to one side, over the pine needles. Arthur would have strained to see his own gift, except for the fact it would have turned out to be yet another failure in an ever-lengthening line of futile endeavours.

The radio was switched off after the presents were piled under the tree and Merlin left the room. Arthur wondered if Merlin had undeclared, _secret_ plans to go out. Maybe they involved meeting someone. As much as it pained Arthur to dwell on that possibility he couldn’t blame Merlin; he should have real company tonight.

Arthur’s fears were quickly assuaged as Merlin returned, ostensibly from the kitchen, with a big bag of salt and vinegar crisps and a can of _Irn-bru._ Merlin switched the television on and slouched along the length of the sofa, munching and slurping while he watched a rerun of _Top Gear._ And another after that.

It was getting dark outside. The television lit the room in stutters of light, illuminating Merlin’s face in intermittent flashes and shadows. He looked tired and sad. Arthur could feel it from all the way across the room, rolling off Merlin; the throbbing lament of loneliness.

Arthur was tired too, so tired of this. The very person he was supposed to be making happy was withering in front of him, because of him, and Arthur didn’t want that. Merlin deserved to have someone real to love and be loved by. How stupid he’d been, how selfish: to wish that Merlin would keep him. As long as Arthur was in his life, Merlin would never find anyone.

It was hardly an epiphany. Arthur had known it all along. And like every other thought, emotion and sensation that went on inside him, it didn’t mean _a fucking thing_ when he had no power to do anything about it.

Merlin got up and closed the curtains, switched on the fairy lights and came back to the sofa. He lay down on his side, one arm curled under his head, the other laying along his body. The television was on the _Dave_ channel and _The Jam_ were playing in the intro to _Mock the Week_ \- not that Merlin was watching it.

Merlin was watching Arthur.

Without moving or speaking, Merlin looked at Arthur for the duration of the television show, a half hour at least, in studious silence. Arthur should have felt uncomfortable, having Merlin gaze at his face and his body, not attempting to disguise it as anything else, permitting himself to make Arthur the object of his attention, no matter how distant. Instead, Arthur felt anticipation. Something was brewing beneath the raven flutter of Merlin’s lashes in the depths of those deep blue eyes; in the way his fingers curled and uncurled in his hair and the way his lips parted the smallest fraction to release a soft sigh.

When Merlin did push himself up, Arthur wasn’t sure what to expect, though a small part of him did expect it to involve him.

It was therefore with some disappointment for Arthur that Merlin went over to the television cabinet and fiddled around where he kept his handful of DVD’s, until his hand emerged with what looked like an adaptor, a smooth black device the size of Merlin’s palm, along with a lead and a plug in a clear plastic bag. There was also a slip of paper that Merlin removed, unfolded and paused to read, occasionally casting Arthur a sideways glance. With that done, he walked over to the Christmas tree, plugged in the device and left the room.

Once again, Arthur was alone.

He remained where he sat, listening to Merlin prepare and eat dinner and wash up. After that Merlin showered, though it was only a little after six o’clock. The nagging worry that Merlin was going out returned, clouding every other thought Arthur had.

It was short-lived.

Merlin re-emerged from the bathroom in pyjama trousers, a sweatshirt and thick socks, damp hair settling in wayward curls over his ears and into his neck. Arthur felt a flash of want, harder and deeper than he’d ever felt before, seeing Merlin scrubbed rosy and shining. When Merlin came closer to him, it grew stronger, spiking and clawing to get out.

Arthur wanted so much to feel Merlin’s arms as they slipped around him, wanted to feel his breath on his cheek as he was lifted, wanted to be able to hold Merlin in return and whisper endearments in his ear. Whatever it was that made Arthur who he was now, it was fragmenting, disintegrating, as Arthur found his incarceration more intolerable by the second.

Merlin dragged Arthur to his bedroom. It was the first time Arthur had seen it – the pine bed and bedside table, the burgundy duvet cover, the discarded t-shirt draped over the back of a wooden chair – Merlin’s retreat, the place where he laid his head at night. Sitting Arthur on the chair, Merlin left the room and returned momentarily with the black device: _the battery pack._ He stripped Arthur of his jumper and t-shirt, tipped him forward and with a _clunk_ it appeared the battery was in place.

Arthur rattled around a dozen scenarios, not sure what direction Merlin’s mind was taking him; not sure how much longer he could take the burning that was spreading out from inside him before he lost the ability to think at all. Meanwhile, Merlin lifted Arthur onto the bed, removed his socks and jeans then took off his own sweatshirt and climbed onto the bed beside Arthur. He pulled the covers up over them both, sidled up close and cradled Arthur’s jaw in his hand.

At last, after looking at Arthur long seconds with real tenderness, Merlin spoke. “I want you to be warm tonight. I know you’re not real, and that eventually I’m going to have to find someone who is. But just this one time, I’m going to say it out loud.” Merlin took a steadying breath and whispered close to Arthur’s face, “I wish _you_ were real, I wish you could be _the one._ And, well, it’s Christmas Eve and it’s just you and me and who’s to know, who’s to care that I got a bit stupid and pretended for one night that you _are_ real?”

As best he could, Merlin turned and settled, spooned up in front of Arthur. Through a blurring blaze, Arthur saw his arm being lifted, his hand laced through Merlin’s as Merlin wrapped his arm in to his chest. Arthur could see the back of Merlin’s head, so close he could make out each curl in his hair, the veins in his ear and the stutter of his breathing.

Arthur couldn’t discern whether it was his distress at his inability to comfort Merlin, or whether there was something else at play, when he felt a further rush of hot and light rolling from deep inside. It kept coming, like the ripples of hot air on a desert horizon. It was unbearable, as unbearable as hearing Merlin’s plea, as unbearable as seeing Merlin curled away, wanting what he couldn’t have.

Worst of all, Arthur knew the end was coming. It was over for him: as sparks danced in his vision, crackling thunder rushed with violent noise, dizzying him even as he lay motionless with its sheer magnitude. Whatever remained of Arthur cried out in pain and sorrow.

Then everything was black and silent.

It was over.

Maybe he’d just passed out.

Or maybe now he was finally dead.

***

Arthur could smell something sweet, vanilla and peach perhaps, and something like hair was tickling his nose. He screwed it up, sniffed the perfume and rolled his eyeballs around behind his eyelids. His left arm was wrapped around someone ... Merlin ... and Arthur’s fingers felt wet. His mouth felt dry.

This was the most vivid dream Arthur had ever had.

Arthur hadn’t dreamed since he was alive.

Since he was alive.

_Alive!_

Arthur’s eyes flew open and it was blurry, but he blinked and blinked and there it was, Merlin’s room. And there was Merlin, still on his side in front of Arthur. He was asleep, his deep breathing gave that away, and his hair _smelled_ of his shampoo and Arthur could feel his hand beneath Merlin’s cheek, covered in his dribble. It should have been disgusting but it was _absolutely fucking brilliant._

Arthur flexed his muscles, his arms and legs, his shoulders. He opened and closed his jaw, his fists and his eyes. He pushed his head forward a fraction more and kissed Merlin on the back of his head before shifting his legs forward and squeezing Merlin tighter with his arm.

Merlin murmured, stirred.

Arthur tried to speak. He opened his mouth and willed the words to come, the word that he’d been longing to say all these dragging weeks.

But all that came out was a loud, deep grunt ... to which Merlin finally woke up.

There was a sharp elbow to Arthur’s ribs as Merlin turned, instantly alert, and looked at Arthur wide-eyed in complete shock. “Aghhh!”

Merlin attempted to leap from the bed quick as a whippet before Arthur, still fuzzy and dull, could react or stop him. In his panicked thrashing, Merlin’s leg caught Arthur and he cried out at the shock more than the pain, which frightened Merlin more as he literally tumbled from the bed and landed in a flailing heap on the floor. He balled and rolled away into the corner of the room.

Arthur had to stop him, had to tell Merlin who he was, but it was like trying to move through syrup - the stuff of childhood nightmares where he would find himself running and running and hardly able to move a step forward. It took all the will Arthur could muster to launch himself from the bed, which failed to turn out how he’d hoped. He found himself face down on the carpet, on the opposite side of the bed to Merlin, his quivering body blocking Merlin’s escape from the door.

 _“Arthur. Arthur, the real Arthur.”_ He tried to say it over and over, like a mantra, but the words were barely recognisable to his own ears. Still, he kept on saying it, hoping Merlin would hear the words behind the noise. All the while, Arthur tensed and flexed his muscles, determined to crawl to Merlin, to let him see who he was.

It felt like an age, as Arthur wriggled and shuffled and eventually manoeuvred his reluctant body to the foot of the bed where he could see Merlin, cowering terrified. His harrowed eyes were fixed on Arthur, all colour gone from his face, the shock and fear making him tremble all over.

Seeing Arthur inching clumsily along the floor, Merlin shrank further into the corner and tucked his head deep into his arms, recoiling from Arthur’s attempts to reach him. Arthur must have painted a terrible picture, with his uncoordinated writhing, unable to explain, to say what he wanted to say.

Arthur’s mouth gaped, his jaw going up and down, ugly grunting sounds but no words coming out as he attempted again and again to explain. All the things he wanted to say were crowding, billowing, demanding to be released and finally, in a last desperate push for _something,_ Arthur blurted out, _“Thirsty,”_ which wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all.

It appeared his newly reanimated form was having a bit of trouble with rewiring but the possibility that this was it, Arthur was going to be a jabbering, awkward mess for the rest of his new life was all too much to bear after everything he’d been through.

And the final insult - he burst into tears.

Merlin looked at Arthur through the cage of his fingers and slowly, slowly unfurled.

He regarded Arthur, sobbing on the floor and crawled over. Looking down, less afraid and more confused, Merlin put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder as Arthur gave in and collapsed down flat onto the floor.

“Shh,” Merlin soothed. “It’s alright, I won’t hurt you. Come on, let’s get some clothes on you and get you a drink.”

This was priceless. Merlin thought Arthur was a lost or escaped mental patient.

Arthur was beginning to think there must be some truth in the notion of karma, and that he must have been a much worse person in his last life than he remembered.

Merlin helped Arthur get up and sit on the edge of the bed. He put him in the t-shirt and sweatshirt that he’d been wearing earlier, but instead of the jeans pulled out a pair of his own pyjama trousers and slipped them over Arthur’s legs. After Merlin pulled Arthur to stand, leaning into him, he pulled up the trousers and slipped an arm around Arthur’s waist. Arthur was glad of the support. He was more able once he was upright to orient himself and move in a way that resembled slow walking. Merlin lead him to the kitchen and sat him on one of the chairs.

“Do you like this?” Merlin took a can of _Irn-bru_ from the fridge. “The sugar should help you. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Arthur nodded and realised he was hungry just as Merlin got out the bread and started making him a jam sandwich.

To add to Arthur’s humiliation he was unable to open the drink can, and even after Merlin did that for him he ended up spilling most of the first mouthful down his chin. Merlin poured the orange fizz into a coffee mug and held it to Arthur’s lips, carefully tipping the cup up and down as Arthur took slow sips. The effortless way Merlin did this, without thinking, brought Arthur to wonder if he’d done this much before – looked after people who couldn’t look after themselves. Merlin was young, perhaps early twenties, but old enough not to have always worked in a shop.

The sweet-sharp tang of the bubbly drink made Arthur cough and splatter at first, but once it starting going down the effect was immediate. The sugar raced in his veins, neurons fired, Arthur felt his control returning.

Merlin sat down on the chair opposite Arthur, his elbows on the table, his fingers laced together, watching Arthur take his first bite.

In turn, Arthur chewed and swallowed and washed it down with more of his drink, until the cup was drained. He tried to speak again, more quietly and slowly this time.

“I’m Arthur. The real Arthur.”

Merlin looked like he was humouring him as he said lightly, “I’m Merlin.”

“I know who you are. I’ve been here with you since November.” Arthur looked Merlin in the eye and tried to think about where to begin. Slowly the words came. “I was ... I’m him. The original. And when I was alive before my name was Arthur, too. But I never had a wife, or two kids or a dog. I did have a sports car, though.”

“Hang on, how do you know I said that? What have you done with the doll? Did it have something in it, so you could spy on me?” Merlin skidded back on his chair, looking ready to bolt.

“No, no. You have to believe me. _I was the doll._ I used to be a man, but I had cancer and I was dying. I went to Chalice Industries and they made a doll that looked just like the old me. I don’t remember much after that. I was already so ill by then. I’m not sure exactly when I died, but it was near the beginning of November, I think. I remember my sister taking me to see fireworks. That’s all, until I got here.”

“You’re telling me you were the doll, and now you’re real?”

_“Yes.”_

“You really expect me to believe that?”

“No, I don’t. But it’s the truth. I could see and hear everything. You put me in the shop.” Arthur tried to think of all the things that he’d seen and heard. He went back to the beginning, to that first day in the shop when Freya had come. Bit by bit he recounted all the things he could think of that might convince Merlin to believe him, while he tried to really believe it himself.

Merlin sat and listened to Arthur speaking. Though his words were laboured and confused, his thoughts all vying to be released into words first, Arthur carried on. “I wanted to tell you that night you went to the cinema with Freya that you looked so handsome, and that you should stand tall and proud. And the day we went to the beach I wanted to ask you how your leg got wet. I missed when it happened looking at Freya when she came over to rest.” Arthur paused, took another breath and continued on. “There are so many things I’ve wanted to say to you. For everything I’ve seen and heard, you hardly looked at me, you never spoke to me. I knew you wouldn’t, I was just a doll, but I wished for it all the same - for you to be able to _see me.”_

Arthur felt exhausted, the effort to speak draining him of his meagre energy. He pushed his plate away and rested his head on his forearms, resigned that Merlin would call Social Services and have him hauled away to the nearest psychiatric hospital.

In a small voice, more to himself than to Merlin, Arthur said, “I didn’t know this would happen. I thought I was going to be trapped in that doll’s body forever.”

Merlin unlaced his fingers and reached across the table. He brushed his fingers across Arthur’s knuckle and said, “I believe you.”

Arthur lifted his head as Merlin added, “You know, I always felt there was something going on. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I thought I was losing my mind, actually.”

Arthur exhaled a long, deep sigh. “The only time I could feel anything, emotions, I mean, was when you were close to me. I couldn’t always tell if they were your emotions or mine.”

“You must have been so scared.”

“Not nearly as scared as I am now.”

Merlin took Arthur’s hand and squeezed it hard.

It was a start - Merlin hadn’t picked up the phone or fled out of the door; a tiny glimmering ray of hope that pricked through the darkness of Arthur’s uncertainty.

Merlin looked down at their hands, still entwined. “You don’t have to stay, if there’s somewhere you want to go. I can take you. Is there someone you want to phone?”

“I died, Merlin. My father, my sister – they think I’ve been dead for almost two months. I can hardly phone and say, ‘Hello, it’s me’. They’d never believe it.” Arthur wasn’t going to waste a moment more. He had to say it. “I want to be here with you. That is, if you want me here.”

Merlin nodded hesitantly, hardly able to look Arthur in the eye: his face scarlet, eyes blinking fast and frantic.

Arthur leaned forward, revitalised with optimism. “Merlin, I’ve watched you for all this time, been able to get to know you. If I hadn’t liked what I saw, I’d be making my excuses and leaving. But that’s the last thing I want to do. If you give me a chance, maybe you’ll get to know me and like me enough not throw me out once Christmas is over.”

Finally, Merlin lifted his gaze to meet Arthur’s and gifted him a smile.

For a while they sat talking at the kitchen table. Merlin made tea, Arthur ate another sandwich. Then he needed to pee.

When Arthur came back to the kitchen Merlin stood to meet him, coming in close and clasping his arms. He asked, with concern, “How are you feeling?”

“Not sure. Overloaded.”

“It’s too much to take in, isn’t it?”

Arthur skated his hands over Merlin’s chest, still too scared to leap ahead and hold him tight, not wanting to frighten him off with the intensity of his desire. “Could we just watch some television?”

“Sure.”

As Merlin moved to step around him and lead the way, Arthur couldn’t resist. He took Merlin’s hand and said fondly, “I can’t believe you revived me with a can of _Irn-Bru._ ”

Merlin’s grin exploded like fireworks in Arthur’s heart.

“I’d have given you brandy but I was worried it would interfere with your meds.”

***

Merlin handed Arthur the remote, as if he instinctively knew how much that would mean, to give Arthur the choice. Arthur went searching for a sitcom.

It should have been anticlimactic, watching television on opposite ends of the sofa after everything that had happened to Arthur in last couple of hours. The most surreal thing about it, though, was that it was far from an anticlimax; it was as warm and natural as fresh summer air.

Arthur and Merlin were an arm’s stretch apart and despite Arthur laughing at the television, when he looked over at Merlin looking at him, he knew that for Merlin there was still an underlying tension. Merlin didn’t know Arthur at all, while Arthur had seen things Merlin had thought were private. Arthur wasn’t sure how to move him past that.

When there was a break for adverts, Arthur turned down the sound on the television. He turned to Merlin and stretched his palm over the space between them. “I want you to know that everything I saw and heard - that’s between us. I know it must be awful to feel like you were being spied on, that I know so much about you but that you don’t know anything about me. The thing is, after everything that’s happened to me, I’m not sure I know myself anymore.”

Merlin spread his hand over Arthur’s and said, “I see you. I can see that you’re a fighter; you never give up. You’re strong, Arthur. To have got through what you did and be able to just sit here with me and watch tv, and wait for me when all you’ve done for almost two months is wait to be set free. That tells me you have a good heart, and that you care about me and about what I want and what I feel. You’ve seen my friends, you’ve seen my life and they haven’t put you off.” Merlin was more diffident as he added, “I can see how you look at me, and I know how it makes me feel.”

“How does it make you feel?”

“Wanted.”

Arthur took Merlin in his arms, the way he’d yearned to for so very long. He pressed his lips forward gently to Merlin’s as Merlin reached up, one hand in his hair, the other on his jaw. His returning kiss was unsure, tentative and quivering-soft.

“Merlin, I know this is a lot for you. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for ... we can take it as slow as you want.”

Merlin nodded, the blush creeping starkly up his face as he looked away. He whispered to the floor, “Come back to bed with me, like we were before?”

“Really? You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

***

Merlin stripped off his sweatshirt and slipped between the covers as Arthur followed suit.

This time, though, Arthur didn’t let Merlin curl away so soon. With Merlin looking up at him, his breath caressing Arthur’s face, Arthur kissed Merlin with tender care. He touched his lips to the corner of Merlin’s mouth, to the tip of his nose, to his eyelids as they fluttered open and closed like the tremble of dragonfly wings.

Merlin didn’t stop looking. He followed the tracks of Arthur’s kisses; he lifted his hand from beneath the covers and made tracks of his own, with fleeting fingers over Arthur’s face.

Arthur kissed the tips of Merlin’s fingers and pressed in closer with a warm embrace.

***

With Merlin pressed beside him, Arthur lay awake in the dark. His impatient mind chased away any chance of sleep; he tossed and turned - his muscles twitching with the urge to flex and pull. The things he wanted to tell Merlin worried for release and the unanswered questions refused to quiet, the mystery of how all this had come to be. Skulking, black and loathsome, bleeding over every reminiscence and question, a terrifying thought loomed: how long would his real body last? Was he back for good? Was it for only one night? Would he be doomed to face the same fate he had in his previous life?

His eyes fixed on the digital clock on the bedside table. It wasn’t quite midnight.

It was no more than superstition to fear that witching hour, where something supernatural, something wonderful or terrible might happen. Given what had already taken place, however, Arthur felt it justified.

Merlin’s voice cut through the darkness. “Are you still awake?”

“Yes. Sorry, am I keeping you up?”

“No. There’s no way I can sleep.” Merlin turned on the bedside light. “I can’t help thinking that if I go to sleep, when I wake up --“

“This will have all been a dream?”

“Yes.”

Arthur nodded miserably in agreement and Merlin leaned over, pulling them together, their bodies flush.

Whether it was Merlin’s overriding anxiety that there was no time to waste, or his desire to comfort that propelled him past his earlier shyness, Arthur didn’t know. All that mattered to Arthur was that he was close to Merlin, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, feeling his heartbeat, the heat and softness of his skin, his life coursing through his veins and mirroring Arthur’s own. This was the only kind of living worth having.

Arthur tilted Merlin’s face, to look into his eyes. “Will you promise me something?”

“What?”

“If I turn back into the doll, take me back to Chalice Industries and tell them to destroy me.”

Merlin’s chin crumpled as he nodded and swallowed hard, trying to turn away and blink back the tears welling in his eyes. “I promise.”

Seeing Merlin distraught, when this should have been a night of wonder and happiness, Arthur steeled himself and buried away his dread of the morrow. If he only had one night with Merlin it shouldn’t be filled with tears or bitterness.

Arthur rolled Merlin onto his back, loomed over him earnest and loving. “There has to have been a point to this, this thing that’s happened to me, to us. That’s how it should work, isn’t it?”

“Then it can’t just be a dream, it can’t be for one night. That isn’t fair. What’s the point in giving you another chance, in bringing you back if you have to lose it all again before morning?”

“I don’t have the answers, but if I make it through tonight, if I make it past Christmas, I’m going to find out. I’m going to go back to the factory to find out what they’re up to.”

Arthur watched Merlin brace himself before stroking his cheek. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“That you’d be all forceful and heroic.”

“You like that?”

“Maybe.”

The kiss that followed was urgent and laden with the promise of Merlin’s ardour. Arthur took it all: the taste of Merlin’s saliva on his tongue, the pressure of Merlin’s fingers gripping his neck and shoulder, the arch of his back and the sound of his quiet moans. The blood sang through Arthur’s veins, his muscles thrummed in anticipation, his cock began to swell as it rubbed against Merlin’s thigh.

Merlin was blotched pink with the flush of arousal, across his cheeks, down his neck and over his chest.

Arthur thought of all the ways he wanted to touch him, how he wanted to lick and suck and bite and pin Merlin down until he cried out his release. Not now though. They were too desperate to tease out and unravel every tightened knot of desire, to make the crash and fall long and lasting. This time was about connection, swift and binding.

Arthur took a chance and pushed back the covers. Merlin didn’t falter, didn’t break from the contact as gradually Arthur’s touch descended, his fingers gliding over the lean muscle of Merlin’s stomach, grazing over the hair on his belly. Arthur inched his hand further down, pausing between kisses, breathing and sucking into Merlin’s neck as Merlin’s own hands slid over slick muscle, pushing into the small of Arthur’s back.

The button on Merlin’s pyjama trousers slipped free through Arthur’s fingers, the fabric parting and falling as Merlin’s breath caught in his throat in a whimper. He gripped at Arthur’s wrist, his look hungry with wanting.

“Can I?” Arthur whispered.

“Yes.”

Arthur spread his fingers and placed his hand at the top of Merlin’s thigh, stroking a feather-light touch over the loose, damp skin of Merlin’s balls, cupping and rolling them in his palm while Merlin bucked and bit his bottom lip. The thrill of watching Merlin being touched for the first time throbbed through Arthur’s cock and flashed over his skin with spikes of heat.

Slowly, purposefully, Arthur took Merlin’s cock in his fist and rubbed his thumb over the head, gently spreading the beaded moisture from the slit. Merlin whimpered. Glancing down he watched the pre-come shining over the head of Merlin’s lust-swollen cock as Arthur eased his foreskin back with this fingers and squeezed out a firm, steady up-down over the silky length of flesh.

Merlin’s fingers dug in, his brow furrowed and his lips parted, as he countered Arthur’s rhythm, pushing his hips up into Arthur’s downward strokes. Arthur was firm, relentless; with every stroke he watched Merlin climbing up and up, where the air was thin and came in fought-for gasps. The high sounds in the back of Merlin’s throat were a sure sign he was close.

Arthur wanted to see it, all of it. “Look at me.”

Merlin’s look was pleading. “I’m coming.”

“Yes, go on, _go on.”_

The words had scarcely left Arthur’s lips when Merlin arched and keened, his come spurting a thick line up his chest to his shoulder. Arthur couldn’t help but smirk at the look of surprise on Merlin’s face as he shuddered through the final waves of his orgasm, looking thoroughly wanton, completely used.

“Okay?”

“Give me a second.”

While Merlin regained his breath, Arthur kicked off his pyjama trousers and straddled Merlin’s waist, his balls resting on the cool streak of come that clung to Merlin’s skin and dark hair. He dragged his fingertips over the smooth skin inside Merlin’s upper arm and watched him shiver as he asked, “Give me your hand. We’ll do it together.”

Guiding Merlin’s grip, it was over quickly. Arthur stripped his cock with Merlin’s slender fingers and with his hand clasped around Merlin’s, they rubbed tight-fast until he came hard and loud with a string of grateful curses on his lips.

When he collapsed in a limp heap at Merlin’s side, Arthur noticed the clock.

Midnight had been and gone without incident.

***

Merlin and Arthur lay sated and awake in each other’s arms, staying up talking well past the small hours.

Arthur was able to breeze through the story of his former life, realising how very mundane it sounded in the retelling: boarding school, university, rugby and working for his father’s business. The highlight was the drama of his coming out, not a year before he got cancer. There had been no long term relationships, no risks and no adventures.

Merlin shifted onto his side, more at ease with each passing hour, resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder and rubbing his thumb over Arthur’s wrist. “You haven’t mentioned your mother.”

“She died - giving birth to me. You’d think it never happens these days but it does.” Arthur didn’t want to talk about the unfilled empty space her loss had created – not now. “Is the woman in the photos on the mantelpiece your mother?”

“Yes. She died almost four years ago, when I was nineteen.”

“I’m sorry. You looked like you were both close in the pictures.”

“We were.”

“What about your father?”

“He left my mother before I was born – he didn’t even know she was pregnant. I tried to find him a few years back, but I was too late. He was a soldier - killed in action in Afghanistan.”

“So you’ve been on your own a long time.”

“I have a lot of good friends. It’s not the same as family but it’s better than a lot of people have.”

Arthur contemplated the network of love and friendship that Merlin had around him. While Merlin’s life was filled with hardships, many more than Arthur’s had been, it was in many ways richer than Arthur’s life had ever been.

With Arthur tucked beneath his wing, Merlin succumbed to sleep first, on a renewed promise to carry out Arthur’s wishes if the morning broke the spell that had brought them together. He laid languidly slotted beside Arthur like he’d always fitted there and Arthur felt, in that slack, quiet moment before he drifted off, as the rain pattered on the window, that if this was his very last night, this time he would take it and never wish for more.

***

Daylight tickled Arthur’s eyelids. _He was still alive._ He opened his eyes, rapt with excitement and joy, and saw Merlin looking at him, smile bright and elated.

“You’re still here then.”

Arthur roared - the sound of unbridled happiness exploding from his lungs like a royal fanfare. “I’m still here!”

He leapt from the bed, stood on his tip-toes, stretched his arms and flexed his fingers. A hesitant Merlin was emerging from the covers, not quite sure what to make of this exuberant display; like a gust of hot air Arthur grabbed him and swung him up off the bed, around and around until they tumbled back down tangled around each other with breathless laughter.

Arthur swung Merlin over his body, until he was straddling his hips, and pulled him down, kissing his cheeks crimson. “Is this is it? I get to stay?”

“Looks like it.”

“Happy Christmas, Merlin.”

“Happy Christmas to you, too.”

***

The rest of the morning was an unhurried exchange of orange juice kisses and jam-sticky touches while Arthur and Merlin planned and plotted.

Merlin was expected to be at the pub at midday, to exchange gifts with his friends before walking back to Gwen and Lance’s for Christmas dinner. Arthur had offered to remain behind, not wanting to make things awkward for Merlin and eager to begin some online research in preparation for his quest to discover how and why he had befallen this fate. Merlin, however, insisted that Arthur come with him, which meant they had to have a credible story intact, inevitable as it was that there would be a flurry of questions from Will, Gwen, Freya and probably Lance and Percy, too.

Arthur came up with an idea that he thought sounded convincing enough.

“We’ll tell them I left my details with Chalice Industries, and expressly stated that I would be interested to meet the person who purchased the Real Doll that looked like me. I’ll just say that I’d had no luck with relationships up to now, which is true, and that I thought this might be a way to meet someone unpretentious. It was a long-shot that paid off.”

“Bloody long shot.”

Arthur ignored Merlin’s eye roll and carried on. “Next, you called about your warranty or something, and they happened to mention that they had my details if you were interested.” Arthur buttoned up his white shirt as he continued. “We started emailing, then we Skyped and the next thing you know, we’re arranging to meet up. I know it sounds unlikely, but these things do happen. And it’s positively bland compared to the truth.”

“What happens when someone asks why you aren’t with your own family today?”

“We’ll say my family have gone skiing in Vermont. I was all set to go too when I discovered at the last minute that I couldn’t go because I forgot to renew my passport. That allowed me to come down to meet you yesterday, just for lunch, but we hit it off so well you invited me to stay. End of story.”

“That is a cunning plan,” Merlin finally agreed, pulling a dark grey cabled jumper over his head.

“Thanks. You look nice, by the way.”

Merlin blushed and fiddled with his cuffs, and Arthur’s chest swelled with how gorgeous he looked. Arthur had only seen Merlin remotely dressed up once before. Jeans, shirt and jumper weren’t formal, nothing like as formal as the Christmas attire donned at the Pendragon household. That didn’t stop Arthur looking at Merlin like he was the one who was a dream come true, as he straightened his collar and said, “Are you sure this looks all right?”

“You look good enough to eat.”

“Wait until you see what Lance will have cooked.”

Arthur couldn’t wait, given how long it had been since he’d had a hot dinner. However, his concern over Merlin faltering through their charade was proving a dampener to his appetite. He asked Merlin once again, “You’re absolutely sure I shouldn’t just stay here today?”

“If you really don’t want to come, I’ll understand. But if I go without you I’ll be worrying about you here all by yourself. We’ve got our story straight, and a few white lies are okay, for the greater good.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person that could convincingly tell a lie.”

“Then you don’t know me as well as you thought you did. Like I said, I can do it for the greater good. Like telling Mrs. Jones you can’t drive on the motorway once you’re over seventy-five.”

“You told her that?”

“Yes. Freya asked me to. She said she wouldn’t believe it coming from her family.”

“That’s because it’s _not true.”_

“Yes, but we’re doing it for her own safety and that of other drivers. The point is she bought it coming from me.”

“I think your friends are cannier than Mrs. Jones. We’ll go with avoidance tactics first and bullshit as a last resort.”

“Okay. You’d best try to avoid sitting next to Freya or Gwen. They’ve got bullshit radars the size of south Wales.”

“I’m planning on sitting next to you and not letting you out of my sight.”

As Arthur continued getting dressed he was reminded of a minor problem: the only clothes he had were the ones he’d owned as a doll. This included a decent pair of black ankle boots and the jeans that he came in, which were hopefully generic enough to pass unnoticed.

“It’s going to look a bit weird, me turning up dressed like this.”

“I know. Hold on a sec.” Merlin left the bedroom and returned with Arthur’s Christmas present. “You can have this now.”

Arthur opened the gift that Merlin had wrapped just yesterday, an aeon ago, a different world ago, and inside was a black cardigan, with a high collar that folded over and a zipper up the front. Arthur hadn’t seen the finished garment before, only Merlin working on the individual pieces.

“I can’t believe you made this by yourself. It’s great, I love it.”

“Gwen sewed in the zip for me.” Merlin smoothed his hands down the front, over Arthur’s chest, obviously pleased with the result. “My mum taught me to knit. She was never without a pair of needles. I feel like it’s a connection to her, you know?”

“Yes, I do. Well, this is perfect, absolutely perfect.” Arthur regarded himself in the mirror in his perfect, amazing homemade gift. He added quietly, “I don’t have anything to give you. Not yet.”

“You don’t need to bother. That was some stunt you pulled last night. I don’t think there’s anything else I could wish for.”

Arthur could think of a few things, and only time would tell if he would be in a position to deliver.

***

The pub was busy and Arthur’s arrival with Merlin simply added to the commotion. Everyone seemed only too delighted to accept Merlin and Arthur’s version of events, especially since gifts were being ripped open and Arthur had offered to buy the first round of drinks (with the twenty pound note Merlin had stashed in his front pocket). While Arthur stood at the bar, watching Merlin being hugged and kissed, he considered that perhaps they were just pleased to see the smile back on Merlin’s face.

Gwen slipped between them on the walk back from the pub, linking her arms through theirs. It looked to Arthur like the two vodka tonics she’d drunk must have been large ones.

She deliberately avoided the cracks in the pavement, throwing the three of them off step, and said, “I knew you were up to something, Merlin. You haven’t been yourself for weeks and then you blew us all off last night.”

“I didn’t want you worrying about me, if it didn’t work out. I know how suspicious you are about online communication.”

Lance interjected from just behind them. “That’s only because she forgot to set her Facebook page to private. Not very clever when you’re a teacher, is it Gwen, love?”

“Oh don’t start up about that again. It’s not like you’re perfect, _he who left the front door wide open all day when he went to work last week.”_

“Never said I was, sweet-pea, never said I was.”

Arthur looked around at Lance, who winked at him. Even their bickering was tempered with affection. It made Arthur think of Morgana.

The recollection was followed by a sudden wave of nausea, not caused by the beer, but by an unexpected desire to see his sister and his father. He was having the time of his life, yet Arthur was overtaken by the overwhelming need to get home.

***

Beer, wine and a bellyful of rich food at Gwen and Lance’s had successfully knocked Arthur out for a full six hours after he and Merlin had got home and gone to bed, shortly after midnight. There was enough ambient light without the sun up to see the profile of Merlin’s face, mouth open, snoring softly with the duvet pulled up to his chin. The rest of him was sprawled in a wide ‘X’. Arthur didn’t bother trying to requisition any more of the corner of bed that he’d been left with – he was already wide awake. On the other hand, he did make a mental note that if he was going to become a permanent fixture they were going to need a bigger bed.

Arthur crept out, grabbing Merlin’s sweatshirt from the floor on his way. He slid along the hallway and down the stairs in the dark, not wanting to disturb Merlin at this early hour. Once he was able to close the door behind him he put the light on in the back room of the shop and entered the storeroom. The floor in there was concrete and bitterly cold; Arthur curled his toes in with the shock and moved fast.

It wasn’t difficult to find what he was looking for. The open crate Arthur had arrived in was huge – as big as a coffin - and stood leaning against the far wall, wedged between two storage shelves. The packing material was stuffed in a clear plastic bag wedged in the bottom of the crate. Arthur pulled it out and was relieved to find beneath it was a packing slip from Chalice Industries with a full address, customer service number and email and web addresses.

With frozen feet and sweaty palms, Arthur slunk back upstairs. At the top of the landing he held his breath, listening for sounds of movement from the bedroom. Satisfied Merlin was undisturbed, Arthur tip-toed to the living room, closing the door behind him, ready to begin his investigation.

Within ten minutes he was pacing the floor, his fists balled and jaw clenched in anger and frustration.

He had no money, no car and no identity. He was hours away from Chalice Industries and his father’s house in Camelot, without means to reach either under his own steam. It was Boxing Day: there were no trains and the factory, or whatever the building actually was, would be closed. There wasn’t even the option to phone his father or sister without causing them undue distress and possibly risking Merlin’s safety should his father trace the call and consider the call-maker a threat.

Arthur had been motionless, powerless, without a voice and confined for too long, and he couldn’t stand it any longer. He let out a growl. It was a close-fought battle to resist the urge to turn over furniture.

Instead, he went to the kitchen and put on the kettle. It hissed to life as the floorboards next door creaked. He turned his head to see Merlin shuffling into the kitchen shivering, puffed and pink-creased from sleep.

Merlin pressed his chest to Arthur’s back, slipping his arms around his waist. His breath was sleep-warm against Arthur’s neck as he said, “Do you always get up this early? Because I hate to tell you this may be an area of serious incompatibility.”

“I can’t laze around not _doing_ anything. I need to find out what happened to me.” Arthur’s tone was biting and he felt Merlin flinch. This wasn’t Merlin’s fault. Arthur turned around in Merlin’s hold, cupped his jaw in his hands and kissed him an apology. “I went online and searched everything: their website, business searches, Yellow Pages, everything I could think of. The website is gone and Chalice Industries doesn’t exist on any directory anywhere. It doesn’t make sense - I know I was there at the factory and I know exactly where it was. I could find it again if I had to.”

Merlin yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Did you try the phone numbers?”

“Yes. They weren’t recognised.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Me neither - which is exactly why I need to go there at once and get some answers.”

“It won’t be open today. What are you going to do, break in?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t sit around here though.” Even as the words left his mouth, Arthur knew he was being rash. The factory would have an alarm and possibly a security guard. On the miniscule chance he got past those, what were the odds of him finding anything worthwhile in an office or a lab?

Arthur dropped his head to Merlin’s shoulder and sighed. “I thought if I could get proof Chalice Industries did something to me that I could take it to my father. They can’t be allowed to do this to people. It’s sick, it’s insane.” Arthur paused. “What if I go home and he doesn’t believe I’m me? What if he thinks it’s a trick or a con? He could have me arrested.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know him, Merlin. You don’t know how he is when he gets upset.”

Merlin carded his fingers through Arthur’s hair, scrubbed his fingertips into the back of Arthur’s head. It would have been soothing at any other time.

“Make me a strong coffee,” Merlin said. “We’ll head off straight away. Let’s do it, let’s go.”

Merlin’s eyes were a beacon, his hold a buttress. Before, Arthur had been a loner, always managing by himself and thinking that needing someone was a distasteful character flaw. “You don’t have to come with me – if you’ll let me borrow your car - and some money.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m coming with you.” Merlin gave Arthur’s shoulder a gentle punch. “Don’t think I’m going to let you abscond with my only means of transport that easily.”

At that moment, seeing Merlin smiling at him, knowing Merlin was going to be with him, Arthur didn’t feel weak or needy; he was imbued with the sincere belief that he could do anything.

With renewed confidence, Arthur said, “We’ll take the packing slip and the instruction manual and work out a plan of action on the way.”

***

The sun spilled over the horizon as they crossed The Severn. The dull, bloated clouds above it were edged silver-bright, which Arthur chose to take as a good omen. Merlin was singing to the song on the radio, beside Arthur on the passenger seat, content to let Arthur drive as long as he kept to the speed limit. He’d made the pertinent point that it probably wasn’t a good idea to give cause to be stopped by the police when a supposedly dead person was behind the wheel. Not only that, Merlin’s car was, well, a jalopy. It might start losing essential body parts over seventy.

After another hour on the motorway, Arthur took the turn off for Burnham, as he’d done himself in July and as a passenger in Morgause’s car in October. The Industrial Park was on the edge of the small town, well sign-posted and looking exactly as it had when Arthur had been here before. The roads were quiet and quieter still once they headed onto the main road through the Park.

Arthur turned down the radio, tense with anticipation: needing every ounce of resolve and energy he possessed to steel himself for what lay two streets away, at the end of a dead-end street.

“Is the camera handy?”

“Yes, in my pocket.” Merlin took it out and waved it about before tucking it back away into his jacket.

“What about the screwdriver and the pen-knife?”

“I’ve got those, too.”

Arthur had no idea if those were the right kind of tools for breaking and entering: they were the only tools Merlin owned that were vaguely appropriate and small enough to be hidden on Merlin’s person.

“I’m going to park up the street a bit, facing the way out. If there’s anyone patrolling the building I don’t want them to be able to identify your car. There’s a fence around the edge, just a metal link one, no barbed wire or anything. We can climb over if the coast is clear.”

Arthur tensed and sucked in his stomach muscles in a vain attempt to quiet the butterflies.

Merlin reached over and clenched his thigh. “Are you nervous?”

“Shitting myself. You?”

“Yeah, me too.”

They turned onto Latimer Court; Chalice Industries was the last building on the left. Arthur could make out the edge of the white sign at the end of the road as he pulled over. He pointed it out to Merlin. “That’s it, down the end on the left.” He turned the car around, parked on the side of the road and took a deep breath. “Ready?”

“Yes. Let’s leave the car unlocked. If we have to make a run for it, it will save time.”

There was no one around. A few cars were parked outside a plumber’s yard across the road from where they’d stopped, but away from the main road there was no traffic. They got out of the car; Arthur shivered against the cold air, and the two of them attempted a casual walk towards Chalice Industries.

When they reached the entrance it was Merlin who spoke first, while Arthur stood staring, dumbstruck with disbelief.

“This isn’t it. It’s not here.”

The sign was white, with neat blue writing. It was worn at the edges, the paint peeling away to reveal the wood beneath. And it said _Avalon Engineering._

“Merlin, I swear, this was the place.”

“It must have gone out of business. That’s why they didn’t bother to come after Will for the money.”

“Look at the sign, the building – look how old it looks. I was here two months ago. It was pristine, all of it.” Arthur felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs.

“Are we still going to sneak around?”

“I don’t think so. Look.”

A hefty security guard in a brown uniform emerged from behind the building and was approaching the gate with a dog, a big hungry-looking German Shepherd.

“Man, are we crap at casing a joint,” Merlin said.

 _“Casing a joint?_ This isn’t the movies, Merlin.”

“Morning, gents. Need some help?” The old guy looked friendly, at least. That didn’t stop Arthur finding himself at a loss for words.

“Yes,” Merlin said. “We were looking for Chalice Industries. The sat nav brought us to this address, but clearly it’s not here.”

“I’ve never heard of it. I doubt it’ll be open today, anyway.”

“Oh, I just wanted to find out where it was. I have a job interview tomorrow and I wanted to know where I was going ahead of time, so I won’t be late. Good job I did, given that we can’t find it.”

The security guard looked around, frowning. “Well I’ve worked around here for the last fifteen years, and I’ve not seen a business by that name on this industrial park. What do they do?”

“They make shop dummies.”

“Nope. Definitely nothing like that around here. Sorry, lads.”

“That’s okay. We’ll give them a call and ask for better directions. Come on, Arthur. We may as well go.”

He placed his hand firmly on the small of Arthur’s back as he guided him away.

Arthur walked back to the car in a daze, questioning whether it had all been a figment of his imagination, whether he and Merlin were part of some shared hallucination.

“We should go to your father’s house. Do you want me to drive?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“We can always sneak back tonight and have another go.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

Not that there was any point. Chalice Industries was gone along with all hope for answers. Arthur took the packing slip from the dashboard, screwed it up and threw it onto the back seat.

He might be despondent, but he still didn’t litter.

***

There was going to be no playing down the extravagance of the Pendragon residence, not when the entire tree-lined street was sparsely punctuated with high iron gates and block-paved driveways that disappeared from view in sweeping avenues, shrouding the magnificence of the abodes from the view of the passing public.

Merlin let out a whistle through his teeth as Arthur pulled up at the gates of his childhood home, where his father now lived alone. There was every chance Uther wouldn’t be home. Christmas must have been an ordeal, his only son cold in the ground not two months, laid beside his wife in the family plot. Arthur thought with morbid curiosity about his grave, as a diversion from the grim task of announcing his resurrection to the intercom at the gate.

Arthur pressed the button and waited. There was a long pause and then a, “Hello.” _It was Morgana._

Leaning over as far as he could out of his window so that she could see his face, Arthur spoke loud and clear. “Morgana, it’s me, Arthur. Let me in.”

There was an audible shriek. Then the intercom went dead.

Arthur was fully expecting to be met with disbelief, shock, to have to get out and try the key pad. What he didn’t expect was an immediate, loud _clunk_ as the gates swept slowly open.

“This is it. Deep breath, Arthur.”

He drove cautiously, unlike the days when he would hare up and see if he could break thirty before he got to the potted palms. The moment the house came into view, Arthur could see Morgana was already out of the front door, her black hair billowing in waves behind her as she ran towards the car.

Arthur stopped immediately, jumped out and collided into Morgana’s arms before he’d cleared two steps.

“You’re back. You’re back at last.” Morgana hung onto his neck, her breathing fast, frantic.

Arthur pushed her away in confusion. “What do you mean, back at last? You’ve been _expecting_ me?” Arthur glanced around and saw Merlin, hovering nervously by the car, looking as confused as he felt.

Morgana continued, reaching her hand out to Arthur, trying not to lose a hold of him, “Yes. And it’s been a long wait. I’ve been so worried.”

“Arthur? _What’s going on?”_ Merlin sounded upset, scared.

“I don’t know. Come here.” Arthur took Merlin’s hand, squeezed it in his for his own reassurance as much as Merlin’s. “This is Merlin. He’s been taking care of me.”

“Merlin. Welcome, and thank you. Thank you for bringing him back ... home.”

“Morgana, do you know what happened to me after I died?”

“Not exactly. I knew you’d be coming back. I’ll tell you everything, I promise - you just have to keep an open mind.”

Arthur couldn’t help the mordant laugh that broke free from deep in his chest.

Merlin shifted closer, his grip tightening on Arthur’s hand.

Morgana looked at them both, her face serious, earnest, and Arthur wanted to believe she couldn’t have had a hand in what had happened to him. She was fiery, a little wicked at times; Arthur refused to believe she was deliberately cruel, that she could possibly have condemned him to any time at all trapped in the body of a doll.

“Before you go in the house, I have to warn you, Arthur.”

“What?”

“Your death hit Uther hard. I tried to explain to him it was going to be all right in the end, but he wouldn’t listen, he couldn’t believe it.”

“What’s happened to him? Morgana, what have you done?”

“I’ve done nothing to harm anyone, Arthur. You have to believe me. Uther had a heart attack, two days after you died. It was serious – I thought he might die, too. He’s back on his feet now and getting stronger every day but you’ll see a change in him.”

“Where is he?”

“In the conservatory.”

“Arthur, there’s more.” Morgana tried to grab his arm - too late.

“Not now,” Arthur called back as he ran up to the house, leaving Morgana and Merlin on the driveway.

There was a Christmas tree in the hall. Not the usual eight foot spruce that Uther had decorated by the local garden centre, but a more modest pine, decorated more likely by Morgana. Arthur recognised the baubles they’d made together as children, the ones that used to go on the tree in the family room.

The house smelled of winter spice, mulled wine and cake. There was music coming from upstairs, Morgana’s old room. She must have come back to look after Uther.

The conservatory was at the back of the house, beyond the formal sitting room. Arthur kept moving, pausing only when he reached the archway. Uther was sitting hunched in his armchair, looking out mournfully into the garden.

“Father.”

Uther’s head jerked around and he leapt up, steadying himself with a hand on the back of the chair. Arthur’s bit back a gasp. Uther had aged ten years in as many weeks, and was a pale, faded shadow of the austere authoritarian Arthur remembered.

“Arthur, is that you? Is that really you?”

“Yes. I know it must seem impossible.”

Uther held out his arms and for the first time, in his memory at least, it was right for Arthur to go to him, to hold his father tight and let him lean his head upon his shoulder. As a man, Arthur had never matched Uther in height and to Arthur that had been symbolic of so many things. After all that had happened in the last six months, it appeared Arthur had grown and he was finally able to look Uther in the eye.

Uther regarded his son with affection and Arthur was reminded of a day in November, when he’d been laying on the sofa in this very room. They’d both been changed by this ordeal - that much was obvious.

“Then they were right.” Uther sounded choked, with joy not sorrow.

“Who were right? Father, what’s going on?”

A voice behind Arthur made him spin around.

“Arthur. We meet again, at last.”

_“Morgause.”_

She stood in the archway holding a tea towel, in tatty jeans and a long cardigan, looking sickeningly at home in Uther’s house. Arthur didn’t want to believe the warm sincerity in her smile. She’d done something to him, something unnatural and terrible and they all knew about it. Arthur was betrayed by his own flesh and blood; they’d been tricked by this woman. He wanted to lash out at them all, in his haste to punish someone, anyone.

Morgause was the picture of serenity. Arthur shook with rage.

“You look well. You got your wish.”

“Don’t talk to me in riddles. What did you do to me? How did you worm your way into this family?”

Arthur was trembling, shaking with fear. His mind raced with questions, he was dizzy from it, blind with confusion. The room was spinning and his limbs didn’t feel like they were under his command. He willed them to move, to march across the room and throw Morgause out, to cast her onto the street and break the curse she’d brought into his family. He went nowhere, paralysed and suffocating, trapped between the urge to banish and the need to know.

In spite of his weakened state, Uther was as able to command as he had always been. Sure and calm, he put his arm to Arthur’s shoulder and said, “Let’s go to the kitchen where we can all talk. I believe I can smell ginger cake, Morgause.”

“Indeed you can. Come Arthur, don’t be afraid. We have something we need to show you.”

***

Merlin was standing in the kitchen with Morgana, at the counter with a piece of cake on its way to his lips.

“Merlin, don’t eat that! You don’t know what they’ve done to it.”

Morgana was already chomping on a mouthful and Merlin was too slow to heed Arthur’s warning. Arthur’s arm flew out in a futile attempt to reach him, watching helplessly in slow motion as Merlin took a bite.

Merlin swallowed, put the remainder back on his plate and met Arthur mid-stride. “That was my second slice. It’s just cake.”

Morgana shook her head. “For the love of God, Arthur, I know you’re in shock, but there really is no need for all this melodrama. No one is out to poison, maim or injure anyone else.”

“I think, given that your sicko girlfriend had me turned into a seeing, hearing doll for two months and you knew about it but didn’t do a bloody thing to help me is perfect justification for me thinking there’s nothing you wouldn’t do. The only reason I’m still here is because some masochistic part of me is morbidly curious to find out how she did it, and _why the fuck_ anyone would choose to bring me back to life that way.”

“Morgause isn’t my girlfriend, she’s my sister.”

As if that was any kind of answer.

Arthur spun around to his father, throwing his arms up in disbelief. “Was I _mistaken_ to be under the lifelong impression that Morgana was _my_ sister?”

Uther moved to the head of the kitchen table, stern and straight. _“Sit down,_ all of you.” He pulled out the chair to his right and said, “Arthur, you here. And Merlin, you sit there, to his right.”

Arthur obeyed. Things hadn’t changed that much then.

With Morgana to Uther’s left and Morgause next to her, the five of them sat, assembled around one end the Pendragon kitchen table, with a pot of tea and slices of ginger cake. Not for the first time, Arthur wondered if he was in a dream from which he was going to wake up and find himself back in his office in Camelot in the early summer, a pile of conveyancing paperwork stuck to his cheek and Uther breathing down his neck that sleeping on the job was not how the Pendragons had built their property consultancy empire. Not that Arthur had ever once fallen asleep at work. No, it was more likely that he’d been reborn into a parallel dimension where it was normal to abate the even the most upsetting trauma by sitting around the kitchen table having a confab and a home-baked snack.

Merlin slid his chair as close to Arthur’s as it would go and found Arthur’s hand under the table. The feel of his long fingers laced through his own was the only tether Arthur had to anything that felt genuine, real, and he held onto it like a lifeline.

The cake did smell delicious. He and Merlin hadn’t eaten since they left Wales. Arthur relented and took a bite, and another, and found it tasted real enough ... melt-in-the-mouth-good, in fact.

Uther spread his palms on the table and said, “This isn’t my story. Morgana and Morgause are going to have to explain it. I’m going to sit here, enjoy my cake and listen. Arthur, Merlin, you would do well to do the same.”

Morgause began. “I think I can safely say that before recent events, none of us believed in magic.” She looked across the table. “Yes, even me.”

Arthur wasn’t yet convinced.

“What I hope you can trust, Arthur, maybe in time if not now, is it was never my intention or Morgana’s that you should have been incarcerated as you were for so long. When you came to me, I was under the impression your time in the doll would be over as soon as you made it to Merlin. We don’t know why that didn’t happen, why it took so long.”

“So you _did_ do something to me? You put my soul, or whatever it was of me, into the doll?”

“Not exactly. I was following instructions - Morgana and I have been here facilitating events, as it were. The outcome of our actions has been beyond our control. We’ve had to have faith it would all come out good in the end.” She sighed. “Because ultimately, we didn’t ... _don’t_ know what the point of all this has been.”

“You just blindly followed someone else’s instructions without question?”

“In a way, yes.”

“Why? Especially you, Morgana. You question everything.”

“Because we believed that what we were doing was right.”

“Is it the government? Are they experimenting on people?”

“No. Arthur, slow down, I’m getting there. As far as we know, it’s not the government - it’s an agency much older than that. Morgana, it’s time they saw the map.” Morgause continued as Morgana got up and left the room. “A very long time ago, hundreds, even thousands of years ago, most ordinary people put great store in fate, in destiny, shaped by gods that had a higher purpose beyond the understanding of mere mortals. It was a way to justify and explain the terrible things that went on in the world around them, things that were beyond their control. It was also a way to explain those unexpected turns of fortune that had a happier conclusion.”

“Things haven’t changed much,” Merlin said.

“No, Merlin, in that regard they haven’t changed at all. What’s been lost over the ages is the belief in magic. Only, since we’ve all been touched by it we know it still exists. What I’ve learned is that humankind’s loss of faith and belief in the use of magic has resulted in men and women losing the power to wield it. What’s happened here is that the magic has somehow found a way to come back to us. We don’t get a say in how it’s used, but so far in our limited experience it’s only been used for good, not evil.”

Morgana returned to the kitchen with a dirty canvas, rolled and bound with twine. With reverence she undid the knots and smoothed the canvas across the middle of the table giving them all a perfect view of the mottled fabric. It was unimpressive: no bigger than a broadsheet newspaper, tatty and smelling ancient and musty. Morgause and Morgana treated it like it was a piece of priceless art, like the _Mona Lisa_ , in their care and possession.

“There’s nothing on it.”

“Be patient. There’s more I need to tell you first. I was given this almost two years ago, after Morgana found me, by a woman claiming she had brought Morgana and me back together. She told me that through the map she had learned that we were sisters, separated as young children.”

“But Morgana’s _my_ sister.” Once again Arthur looked to Uther, who gave him nothing. He looked then to Morgana.

“I’m your half-sister. We share our father. Morgause and I share a mother.”

“And father, you never thought to tell Morgana this highly relevant piece of information?”

“Since her mother was gone, and as far as I knew her sister too, I never thought it necessary. Morgana is my daughter, and for a short time she was cared for by your mother. Maybe I was wrong, but what’s done is done.”

“This is not for now.” Morgana probably already had time to take issue with Uther. “Morgause, tell him about the map.”

At first, Arthur didn’t see the resemblance. Morgause was blonde, warm-skinned and toned, where Morgana was pale and soft with almost ebony-black hair. Looking at them looking at him, Arthur could see it now: the determined set of their jaws, their piercing eyes; they were opposite sides of the same coin. Morgause was ice where Morgana was fire, and both were equally liable to burn.

At last, Arthur began to truly feel they were on his side. If they weren’t, chances are he wouldn’t be sat here at all.

“The woman told me the map had shown her the way to bring us together; it had allowed things, events to occur that were extraordinary, unbelievable. We already knew it was the case, of course, having lived through the experience, though that’s our story and can wait for another time. She said once her task was complete she was free; possession of the map would fall to me and that when the time came I would be expected to do its bidding.”

Morgause heaved another sigh, as if the weight of her responsibility was finally lifting.

Merlin had sat, quietly supportive, as Arthur listened with a mixture of rising relief and lingering scepticism. The facts of the events of the past months were without dispute. As for the how and why, could it really be that simple, that implausible?

“Did she tell you what would happen if you refused?” Merlin asked.

“No. We never questioned it.”

“Why?”

“For more than a year after I was given it, the canvas was blank. I never forgot about it, though. It had the power to bring Morgana and I back together, it surely had the power to break us apart. We didn’t want to risk it. Then, back in June, the map started to change. You both need to see this.”

Morgause placed her hand on the canvas, and brushed it lightly from one side to the other. Gradually the faded image of a building, Chalice Industries, and Arthur and Merlin standing at its gates, came into view like an old photograph that had been left exposed to the sun for too long. Where the colours were dilute at first, they became denser by the second until the map shimmered and colours burst vivid-bright to life. It was as if they were seeing a reflection in a still pool of water or polished glass.

“That’s us, isn’t it?” Merlin said.

“Yes, from this morning,” Arthur confirmed.

“This is the first new image we’ve had in almost two months,” Morgause paused, looking relieved, and added, “Since we shipped you to Merlin in November.”

“And all you’ve done all this time is sit around and wait?” He didn’t mean to sound aggrieved, but they had to agree it was justified.

“After you died, we shipped the doll to Merlin and hoped that it would only be days before we saw you again. We waited and waited but the map didn’t change, it stayed frozen on the image of a toy shop. Morgana begged me, _pleaded_ with me to come and get you, but we had to keep faith or risk the magic not working.”

When Arthur looked up he saw Morgana’s eyes filled to the brim with tears. She looked as though she were going to speak. However, the only noise that came from her mouth was a high-pitched gasp. She wiped her eyes as two tears fell and looked to Morgause, who nodded gently.

“We knew you had terminal cancer before you did, but were bound to keep our silence.” Every word looked to pain Morgause as they passed her lips. “Morgana nursed you at home those last few days, and when you died we had you buried beside your mother. We paid the undertaker to do everything outside the books. Uther was in the hospital by then, so it was just us two left to take care of things. We never registered your death and all your things were already here, so we left them in your room, and waited for you to come home. We weren’t certain that if we didn’t do as we were instructed, whether the whole plan would fail and Morgana would lose you, and so we did as the map told me.

“You have to understand Arthur, it was the only choice we were given to give you a second chance at life.”

Arthur sat in stunned silence, digesting.

There remained, nonetheless, one burning question in his mind. “What happens now? Do I have to take the map from you?”

They didn’t have to wait long for a definitive answer.

Morgause put her fingers to the edge of the canvas. As quickly as the image of Arthur and Merlin had appeared, it faded away again. The canvas was blank for no more than a count of ten before one word emerged, as if it were being burned into the fabric.

_Merlin._

“Merlin,” Morgana said with surprise. “The map goes to you. You must take it next.”

“Me? But I thought this was about Arthur.”

“It seems it’s been equally about you.”

Arthur heard Merlin’s breath falter and felt his hand stiffening in his. He barely managed to croak, “This map, it’s as much a curse as a blessing.”

“That all depends on how you look at it.” Morgause’s face was sympathetic and kind as she added, “This may be the beginning of a great adventure.”

“I can’t do adventures. I have a shop, I have responsibilities. How am I ...?”

“We’ll manage, Merlin. You won’t have to do it alone.”

Arthur slipped his arm around Merlin’s tensed shoulders and didn’t take a second thought to kiss his temple and whisper, “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

Merlin reached over and touched the map and as he did so his name faded from view. He rolled it up and tied the twine around it, the look of desolation etched over his brow. His smile was forced, pained, as he looked up at everyone and said, “I think I need some air.”

“I’ll show you the garden,” Arthur said.

As they got up to go Uther asked, “You will stay both stay for a few days?”

“Yes, of course. Merlin?”

He nodded.

“Good, that will afford us an opportunity to discuss your plans. Maybe it’s time I spread the Pendragon wings into Wales. I assume you’re going back there?”

“Yes, father. Yes, I am.”

***

Sharp slants of sunlight and bracing air lifted their mood and staved off the exhaustion of the last couple of days a while longer. Merlin didn’t say much as they strolled the path around the garden hand in hand; Arthur left him to his thoughts as he was distracted enough by his own. Having an explanation for what had happened to him, from the time of his cancer diagnosis to the time of his and Merlin’s arrival back at his family home, was one thing. There were as many questions left unanswered and Arthur suspected he was going to have to find the answers to those by himself.

Merlin shivered.

Arthur nudged in towards him, tucked his face into Merlin’s neck and offered, “Do you want to see my old room?” He raised his eyebrows and grinned when Merlin turned his face to look at him.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon. Your family are all in the house.”

“My father’s gone for a nap and Morgana and Morgause won’t care. Anyway, it’s a big house and we can be quiet.”

“All right then.”

Arthur hurried through the kitchen, past Morgause, up the stairs to his old bedroom, dragging Merlin up there with him.

When he opened the door, Arthur balked at the sheer number of boxes stacked against the wall containing his things. There were a lot more than he remembered, that was for sure. Casting a glance inside the fitted wardrobe, Arthur realised it was big enough to hold ten times the clothes Merlin owned yet it was filled to bursting with his multitude of suits, shirts, jeans and shoes. Arthur was disgusted, and simultaneously saddened, that he’d once felt the need to cram his life full of all this _stuff_ – stuff that he was happy not to need any more.

“You’re not planning on bringing all this back with you?” Merlin said sheepishly.

“Definitely not.”

Merlin swung his knees from side to side on the swivel chair at the desk and watched while Arthur lifted up the corner of a box labelled ‘odds and ends’. It was indeed filled with odds and ends - just not the odds or the ends Arthur was looking for. He tried all the drawers and happened upon his underwear, his iPod and a table tennis paddle – all in the same drawer. Abandoning his search for condoms, which he considered rather rash in retrospect, Arthur turned his attention back to Merlin. He looked anxious and forlorn.

“What’s the matter? I mean, apart from being lumbered with a magic map?”

“Why would you want to come back to Wales, when you have all this here?”

“Because that’s where you are.”

Merlin looked away, out of the window, the flush spreading up from his neck. “Don’t you need to be here, for your father?”

“Morgana is here and I can come back and visit him every couple of weeks.” Arthur pulled at Merlin’s jaw, until he faced him. “Have you changed your mind about me? Do you want me to stay here? Is this your way of dumping me now you’ve got me home?”

 _“No.”_ Merlin clung to Arthur’s shirt, blinking, frowning, warring with something. “... God knows I want you to come back with me ... but not because of that map.”

“I love you, Merlin.”

Arthur hadn’t meant to say it. It had slipped out as naturally as if it had long been poised on the end of his tongue, waiting to fall off, as soon as the right moment arose and he could let it go.

Merlin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them he smiled and swallowed hard.

“My old room is in the attic. There’s some space up there for your things and if I get rid of the bed there might be room for all your shoes.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage.” Arthur stood up and pulled at his crotch as he recalled his underwear. “Now, I bet the story books, upon recounting this tale will never report that Arthur Pendragon had to spend the entire morning, the most momentous and important morning of his life, in pants that didn’t belong to him and were so tight he thought he was going to lose all the circulation to his dick.”

“You’d best take them off.” Merlin got up and pushed Arthur back towards the bed.

“I might need your help. I think mouth to mouth resuscitation might also be in order.”

Merlin was undoing Arthur’s belt before his backside hit the mattress, mouthing kisses over his jaw and down his neck, stepping back to yank Arthur’s jeans and pants down over his hips, until he was on his knees at Arthur’s feet. Arthur stripped off his shirt, and widened his legs. Merlin shuffled closer, his chest a hair’s breadth from Arthur’s cock.

In the broad daylight, Arthur could see the hunger flare in Merlin’s eyes, not shy or demure, not in the slightest. Merlin didn’t pause; he dipped his head and sucked the head of Arthur’s cock into his mouth, no preamble. Arthur would show him another time all the ways to draw out the pleasure. This was good though, _fantastic,_ feeling his cock go fully hard on Merlin’s tongue.

Arthur felt the sharp scrape of a tooth and winced. Merlin looked up, the apology in his eyes and Arthur was caught on an inhale at the sultry beauty of Merlin’s mouth, stretched around his thickness, the fluttering fan of his lashes and the endless blue of his eyes. When Merlin sucked him further into his mouth, Arthur had to put a hand to Merlin’s shoulder, to stop himself from bucking his hips and shoving his cock to the back of Merlin’s throat. This was good as it was, really good, and Arthur wanted it to last.

The spit ran down Merlin’s chin. He got sloppy and Arthur suspected his jaw was burning tight with this new kind of exertion. He pulled Merlin up and kissed the taste of his cock from Merlin lips.

“I want to see you naked.”

Merlin took off his top while Arthur stripped him of his jeans and pants and dropped to his knees. Merlin stood in front of Arthur, clearly self-conscious at being exposed for the first time with the afternoon sun illuminating his pale skin. His cock was half hard. Arthur ran his hands up the back of Merlin’s thighs and over the soft skin on his arse, pulling him close enough he could mouth breathy kisses to Merlin’s belly.

The quick heat of want flashed over and through Arthur as he breathed into Merlin’s skin, “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long.”

Merlin huffed out his breath and carded his fingers through Arthur’s hair. Arthur could feel the anticipation, from the flexing in Merlin’s thighs, to the fast-deep drag of his breath and the jut of his cock, going fully hard and wet at the tip.

Merlin wouldn’t ask, maybe didn’t even know what he wanted.

Arthur thrilled as he said to him, “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

“What do you mean? You want to suck me?”

“Yes, I want to suck you at first, and then I want you to pump your cock into my mouth.”

“Won’t I choke you?”

“Maybe a bit, at the beginning. But it’ll be okay as soon as I get used to it.”

Arthur took Merlin slow, using his tongue to map out the ridge of skin beneath the head of Merlin’s cock and to taste the salt tang of his pre-come.

“Oh, oh, oh. That’s so good, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Arthur didn’t stop. He sucked down Merlin’s shaft almost to the base, and back up again, over and over until he whimpered.

It was only then that Arthur released Merlin for a brief moment. “Go on, you can push in and out of my mouth, until you come.”

Merlin nodded, and guided his cock into Arthur’s open mouth, thrusting gently the first few times, gaining speed and depth as his arousal intensified. Arthur opened his throat and closed his eyes, concentrating on not gagging as Merlin’s cock brushed the back of his throat. Merlin had found his rhythm and from the stuttering sounds he was making, and the uneven jerk of his hips, Arthur guessed he was close. Very close. He opened his eyes as Merlin bucked, stilled and flooded Arthur’s mouth with his come.

Arthur swallowed and urged Merlin down to his knees, leaning forward and pressing kisses to his cheeks, to his lips, to his eyelids.

Merlin’s voice was husky, his whole body shaking from the aftermath of his orgasm. “Shall I suck you again?”

“No. Give me your hand.”

Arthur sucked and lathed Merlin’s fingers with his come-scented spit and licked wide over Merlin’s palm. When he released Merlin’s hand from his mouth, Merlin’s grip went straight to Arthur’s cock and he fisted him with fast strokes, flicking his wrist over the head, using his other hand to cup Arthur’s balls.

Arthur leant his elbows back on the bed and watched the show, watched the red-swollen head of his cock emerging through Merlin’s fist, watched the flex of Merlin’s long, lean muscles as he brought Arthur up to his climax. When Arthur came it hit Merlin on the chin and neck, and slithered down his milky skin as Arthur shuddered out the last waves of his release.

“Look at you. Gorgeous.”

Merlin blushed redder and smiled at Arthur’s cock.

Arthur wiped Merlin’s face and neck with edge of his shirt and drag-pulled him up and onto the bed.

They crawled under the covers, tangled together in a loose embrace. There wasn’t a sound, save the soft gusts of their breathing and the occasional chirp of a bird outside the window, singing bravely against the cold. Arthur closed his eyes for a time and wasn’t sure if he fell asleep or merely drifted to that in-between place where dreams seep in and creep around the edges of your mind. When he opened his eyes again the sun had moved past the window and the room was dusky with downy light.

During that quiet, sated stillness where thoughts can meander and bubble to the surface and burst open gently, easily, Arthur let the memories of his weeks as a doll settle without hurt and bitterness. Merlin was idly twisting Arthur’s hair in his fingers; Arthur blew his breath lightly across the skin on Merlin’s chest, making the hairs stand on end and his nipple tighten.

After debating for some minutes whether he should say anything, Arthur’s voice broke into the silence. “I think I know why I was a doll for so long.”

“Was it my fault?”

Arthur lifted his head and propped himself up on one elbow. “No. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I think I wasn’t ready. There was still too much of the old me hanging around.”

“Maybe I wasn’t ready either.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m ready now, though.”

“Good. Me too.”

As if on cue, there was a sound down the hallway. Uther was up from his nap. And Morgause called up the stairs, “Dinner in an hour, you two.”

Arthur called down his acknowledgement before settling back onto the warmth of Merlin’s chest. An hour was ages – plenty more time to wile the afternoon away in bed.

***

Winter, spring and summer came and went. The summer in Ealdor was Arthur’s favourite, with blissfully long days filled with sandy toes, sun-burned noses and beers by a campfire when the sun went down, with Merlin wedged against his chest.

When the autumn came, Freya left for Swansea, Percy for Cardiff, with hugs and kisses and promises that Merlin and Arthur would come and visit them at university.

Merlin bought a new car. Arthur decided to branch out on his own and set up a small office in the village.

Gwen sewed on a Tuesday and played guitar on a Thursday and Lance cooked better than all of them. His loins were legendary. And so were the ones he grilled on the barbecue.

Will and Arthur fought like snarly dogs, especially when they played Frisbee. One always accused the other of cheating. Merlin would step in the middle and punch them both in the chest with about as much force as a spring zephyr. It had them at his feet all the same and they usually managed to remain civil over a pint. Until Will suggested darts, that was.

Arthur and Merlin told everyone that Merlin got a thousand pounds for ‘Arthur Doll’ on Ebay. Arthur had wanted to tell everyone they got two. Merlin got the last word.

Once a month they visited Uther. When it got warmer he visited them, but stayed in a hotel further down the coast where he said he could be waited on hand and foot, which was his privilege at his age. In any case, it suited everyone better that way.

Morgana and Morgause were living in their own house in Camelot, managing the family business better than Arthur ever could have.

The map stayed blank, silent, and the gurgling anticipation began to subside as the days stretched on far away from the mystery and unrest of the months at the end of the year before.

They reached the beginning of another year. Merlin enrolled in a distance learning course to get a degree. Arthur was earning enough to support them both and the shop made enough to pay someone to manage it almost full-time.

Arthur thought about marriage.

They were welcoming their second spring when Merlin called Arthur into the bedroom from the kitchen.

The look on his face said everything.

“It’s time.”

“What does it say?”

“That I have to go to Northumbria and find a man called Gwaine. He’ll tell me what to do next.” Merlin smirked. “It also says you should come with me – to protect me from unwanted advances.”

“It does not. Let me see.”

Merlin tried to dangle the map out of reach as Arthur wrestled him to the bed. When they fell the map fluttered to the floor; Merlin straddled Arthur’s hips and pinned his wrists to the mattress. His eyes were July-bright and his laughter like sunshine breaking through rain.

Arthur would go with him, whether the map said to or not. After all, there was always the chance he really would need to protect Merlin from unwanted advances. Not that there was any need for Merlin to know that.

The map could wait a while longer. There were more pressing issues at hand.

Arthur looked up at Merlin. He could feel his warm weight and smell his shower-fresh skin; he ached to taste every last inch of him. With blood coursing strong through his veins and lungs joyously full of air, Arthur said to Merlin, “Kiss me.”

And Merlin was only too happy to oblige.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

>  **Beta:** Thorough, precise and all too good at stroking my ego – thank you, Wildeagain.
> 
>  **A/N:** This was a fill for a [KMM prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/19600.html?thread=19818128#t19818128) (originally posted as The Map Of Love). The prompt was perhaps cracky and light-hearted, but the draw for me was the reference to the film _Lars and the Real Girl_. The film is the story of Lars - unable to tolerate touch, human contact, because of trauma he suffered as a child. He buys a Real Doll and incorporates her, quite chastely, into his everyday life, as his girlfriend. His community love him dearly, and go along with his delusion in order to help him work through it. It’s a charming, heart-warming and heart-breaking story, and for me that was the feeling I had about this prompt.  
>  The story was called _The Map of Love_ (after the Dylan Thomas book of poems) on KMM, but Toodelicious suggested a song called [Live To Tell The Tale](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/s/Live+To+Tell+The+Tale/2pqCq5?src=5) to go with the story. Not only do I love the song, I like the title better, too. Sorry if this causes any confusion!
> 
> Comments are welcome here or at my [Livejournal](http://planejane.livejournal.com/101887.html).


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